Remembrance
by marjorie16
Summary: When Edward said, "You don't know how long I've waited for you" Just what exactly did he mean by that?
1. Prologue

**Title: **Remembrance  
**Author: marjorie16**  
**Fandom: **Twilight  
**Summary: **If there were such things as soul mates, then there are such things as past lives. And when Edward Masen became a vampire, his immortal soul became one with his body. But what of his soul mate? While he lives forever, her soul wonders from body to body, bound by the ties of mortality, always searching and never finding. Alone every single lifetime. After 108 years of solitude, he meets those brilliant chocolate-brown eyes for the first time -- again. Finally.

PROLOGUE

I woke from the pain of my head. It was a stabbing searing pain. Like a car had just ran over me. I touched my head lightly, trying to soothe the pain. At first, I couldn't remember anything. What happened to me?

But just as I started to wonder, I realized that I was on a bed. It's not _my_ bed. But then, I felt a curious sense of knowing that this was mine. It looked like the bed of a princess. Four poles at each corner, lined with frilly see-through cotton candy-colored fabric. Not at all my type, so this can't be mine.

Where was I?

Maybe I had been kidnapped. But then, that implied that I should have remembered being kidnapped, and I couldn't. I tried to search my head for some reason to make everything sensible. I rolled off the bed, and just as my feet touched the carpeted floor. I gazed down at myself.

Oh. This is not me.

I was wearing a … well, not a gown exactly. It was, like my bed, frilly. Like a night gown straight from the nineteen hundreds. It was white, very chaste, very big and spacious. It had long sleeves and, oh my, I'm not wearing anything underneath it! That is not right. Where am I?

I panicked.

I suddenly stood up, not knowing where I was. The walls were lined with a pale shade of blue-green. The floor was carpeted in a very intricate pattern of flowers and birds. All around me, the furniture was painted in white. The chairs were foamed. It seemed that they were all antiques. Old styles. And yet, they all looked new.

I ran to the nearest door.

It was the bathroom. But it wasn't like any bathroom. Not like _mine_, anyway. Not like _any_ I had ever seen. But then, those little details paled to insignificance when I saw the image of myself in the mirror.

I was not _me_.

I looked the same, yes. But I knew that this was not Bella Swan. _I _was not Bella Swan. In my mind, I was thinking like Bella Swan. But physically, this was not me. I looked exactly like a character in a Historical novel.

My hair was short and wavy. Dark-brown just like I remembered having. My face, still heart-shaped. My eyes, still that chocolate-brown shade. But then, I knew within the core of my being that I was Bella Swan, but then, this girl in the mirror, this stranger. She looked exactly like me. Not like we just happened to have the same color eyes. But like, exactly the same eyes. Exactly the same face.

A loud knock brought me out of my reverie.

"Miss. Isabelle?" the woman said. "Miss. Isabelle, are you in there?"

Isabelle?

I'm not Isabelle. My name is Isabella Swan. I'm Bella.

I just knew that I have never heard that voice. Or that name. That was why it was so strange when I heard myself say, "Yes, Mrs. Potts. I'll be out in a minute."

Somehow, I knew that she _was _Mrs. Potts. I knew that she had raised me since I was four. That she was, in more ways than one, my mother. That was strange because I knew also that my mother was Renee and my father was Charlie Swan. But then, a flood of memories coursed through me. And they told me that my mother is somewhere in the house, probably having breakfast with my father, Governor. Charles Harte.

This is getting weird. This is getting _really_ weird.

I was not sure if I consciously decided to go out of the tiny bathroom, but I did eventually. The woman, so familiar, was wearing a pale blue dress-gown. I have no idea what to name them, only that I knew that style was in vogue a century ago.

"Miss. Isabelle, you look like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed!" Mrs. Potts exclaimed. "Here, let me dress you."

And she did. Without any warning she started pulling my night dress off through the length of my raised arms. And then, choosing this conservative yellow dress. I was too confused to say a word.

"Today, you turn seventeen, Miss. Isabelle. Perfect age! Ripe for marriage. And your father has prepared very well."

"Is there a costume party, Mrs. Potts?"

She giggled at my obvious frown. "Your party won't start 'til tonight. I already showed you your attire for later. You told me you loathed it. But I knew it was as good a comment as I was going to get."

"I did?" Looking down, I tried to remember that last thing that happened before waking up here. Umm… There was a car. And me. The car hit me?

"What's wrong with you today, Miss. Isabelle?"

Today? "What day is it?"

"Goodness, child," she cried out. "It's the thirteenth of September."

That _is_ my birthday. But that couldn't be since I had just started my third year of high school in Forks, Washington. And as I remember, it was January. Mrs. Potts seemed oblivious to my obvious panic.

"In the year of our Lord, nineteen-eighteen," she continued.

"What?" I said, cuttingly.

"My dear, it's your birthday."

"No. Say it again. The year?"

"Nineteen-eighteen."

Crap.

The dress. The room. The silly feathered hat. Nineteen-eighteen?

"Oh you have got to be kidding me."

"Miss. Isabelle, are you all right?" And she continued to dress me, dismissing the inappropriate term of phrase I used.

Am I dreaming? It didn't feel like a dream. It wasn't foggy, nor did anything feel surreal. The fabric of my dress itched. That felt real. The tightening of the dress hurt. That felt very real. Even the pain of my head, still throbbing, felt so real.

And somehow, everything also felt like a repeat. Like this had already happened to me. Like I had already experienced not having a hands-on mother. Like I already knew what it was like to have a Governor for a father. Or how it was to wear silly dresses.

It was like there _was_ a time when people called me 'Isabelle' and not 'Bella'

In that instant, I knew for sure that this was not a dream. Because what I felt now was akin to how it feels when you look back at a memory.

I was 'Isabelle' once. 'Bella' also.

I was not dreaming, not at all. I was remembering.

#


	2. Ch1 Dreams

**Title: **Remembrance  
**Author: marjorie16**  
**Fandom: **Twilight  
**Summary: **If there were such things as soul mates, then there are such things as past lives. And when Edward Masen became a vampire, his immortal soul became one with his body. But what of his soul mate? While he lives forever, her soul wonders from body to body, bound by the ties of mortality, always searching and never finding. Alone every single lifetime. After 108 years of solitude, he meets those brilliant chocolate-brown eyes for the first time -- again. Finally.

**Check out Twilight Lexicon for the Twilight Timeline in case you want to predict how I'm going about to writing this.

**BOOK ONE – BELLA**

CHAPTER 1 – Dreams

"Once in awhile  
You are in my dreams  
I can feel your warm embrace  
And I pray that it will all come back to me  
If only you knew every moment in time  
Nothing goes on in my heart  
Nothing but your memories  
And how I want to be with you  
Once more"

~Utada Hikaru~

_The morning light filled my room with magic. It touched the dancing leaves on the trees outside my window and created sparkles as it touched the glass. It was a beautiful morning, a magical morning._

_I couldn__'__t help but rise from my bed and listen to the birds singing outside. I walked towards the balcony and felt the sunshine kiss my cheeks. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming peace I felt._

"_Good morning, love,__"__ he whispered as he pulled my long dark hair back and kissed the nape of my neck._

"_Good morning,__"__ I replied. A perfect morning._

"_You look so beautiful in the sunlight.__"_

_I looked up to see his face, those brilliant emerald eyes, and I saw nothing but the promise of a future filled with mornings such as this. Perfect mornings. The passion I saw in his eyes was drawing me nearer to him. It was not physical. The yearning for him was stronger, deeper, less governed by reason. He was looking at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. He was looking at me like … like he loved me. _

_And then, he smiled my favorite smile, a crooked smile, a smile that I would no doubt recognize in whatever else lies after this life. It was a smile that made your heart skip a beat and made your knees feel weak. This is right. From the depths of destiny, I knew in my heart, in my soul, that this was right. This is the place I truly belonged._

_His arms wrapped around me, and they fit perfectly. Warm and strong. Familiar… safe. Like I was meant to be here, meant to love this man, meant to be loved by this man… forever._

**September 13, 2004**

"Bella!" someone said. Was it my mom? "Wake up, sleepy head!"

"Mom, it's six in the morning."

"Not just any morning, Bells. It's your birthday!" My eyes were still closed but I felt her lips as she kissed my forehead and sat beside me.

"Mom, I love you. Thank you so much for greeting me while I'm still half awake --" I said jokingly. I rubbed my eyes and looked at her seriously this time. "But I was just having the best dream of my entire existence so far."

"Oh yeah?" she asked incredulously. "What was it about?"

"I think I've been reading too much Shakespeare." I sat up and forced my head to remember the details. "I think I was Juliet in that scene. And there was Romeo. It was just after the wedding and we had spent the night together. Only it didn't have a ring of impending doom in it like the actual scene in the play. It was like a different version… a happy ending."

"Isabella Marie Swan, did you just have a sex dream?"

"Mom!" I shoved my pillows over her head, annoyed that she had taken a beautiful dream and made it memorable for me because she thought I was having wet dreams. "It wasn't like that at all! And it's not really something you discuss with your seventeen-year old daughter on her birthday!"

"But you said it was the wedding night scene! You were naked weren't you? Admit it!"

"Well, I don't exactly remember whether I was wearing anything but it had an air of Shakespearean theme… kind of." And then, as I recalled my perfect dream, it was fading away like the dream it was. "Hmm…"

"Well, what was your Romeo like?"

"He was… he had… ugh!" I exclaimed. The perfect dream was getting more blurry as I tried to dig through my memories further. "I can't… remember."

"That's okay, baby." She placed her arms over my shoulders. "Did you know that ten minutes after you awake, you forget almost ninety percent of your dream?" Then she patted my shoulder and kissed my cheeks. "Now come on, hon. I cooked breakfast!"

"_You_ cooked?"

"Today's a special day!" She stood up and smiled at me. "My little girl… my Bella turning seventeen!"

And she left.

There was something about being seventeen that bothered me. Well, not really "bother" exactly. But it was definitely not like turning sixteen or fifteen. This birthday felt different. Like something significant is supposed to happen to me.

Take that strange beautiful dream, for example.

That was the first time I'd dreamt of a boy. I couldn't remember his face anymore or the color of his eyes which, at the time, seemed unforgettable. What I knew for sure was how I felt. I just knew that he was a beautiful man, inside and out, but most of all, I knew that that man, whoever he is, loved me unconditionally. And I loved him back equally. Maybe even more.

I pushed the blankets aside and went straight to the shower, trying so hard to remember the details. His smile… I needed to know exactly how it looked like. As shallow as I might sound, I wanted that dream to be real. I wanted that boy who loved me to exist. I wanted that place I belonged in, those arms that hugged me. I wanted it to be _attainable_.

It scared me that the dream was fading away and I couldn't do anything to preserve it. Because that's all you can do with a dream. Preserve it since you can't really make it happen. Very depressing, actually. It was like feeling the texture of a cloud. You can feel it, but it's never really satisfying because in seconds, it fades away into the air you breathe.

But that's just silly. It was just a dream.

Right.

I went out of the shower, chose a happy green shirt and white shorts. I climbed down the stairs and faced Renee's cooking with a brave heart.

I gulped at first sight.

* * *

**September 28, 2004**

"Bella! Bella! Bella!" someone was shaking me.

"What?" I hissed to my neighbor.

"Pay attention to the ceremony."

"Right. Okay. Sorry."

I struggled to focus my attention to my mother who was presently standing three feet from me, getting married. It was a court marriage. The judge led the ceremony. It wasn't flamboyant like everyone who knew my mother would expect. It was just simple. Simply beautiful and binding. Not that my mom was very good at the 'binding' part.

And it was that point in my life when I realized that this was something I can't have. The words just came to me. Marriage won't ever happen to me. I guess it's because I just know that I'm never going to meet this guy. Not just any guy, but THE guy -- the guy of my dreams… literally.

Ever since I turned seventeen, I've been having this dream about this guy. It's weird because they're all different, but they all posses a sort of similarity. It's subtle, but it's there. Ever since that dream... it's like a light bulb switched on signaling me to look for him or something. But that can't be, can it?

He's not real.

* * *

**October 16, 2004**

I'm depressed.

First, because those silly dreams have not stopped, and are getting weirder by the day. So every night, it's like I close my eyes to watch a movie. There's always a different setting, a different weather, a different girl. But the same too. Same happy endings, same happy smiles… familiar.

But I've learned to ignore these dreams especially now that I have a bigger concern, which brings me to the second reason why I'm depressed: I'm moving out. I have decided to exile myself to Forks, Washington.

When my mom married Phil, I expected things to change naturally. But it came to a point when I have to give way so that she can be happy. I can see what I'm doing to her. It's there in her eyes, the conflict. She wants to be with him, but she has to stay with me. I hate seeing her that way. I hate forcing her to choose between two people she loves, even if it is unintentional on my part. It's still unfair for her.

So starting January, I will be attending school at Forks High, living with my dad, Charlie, who I haven't seen in over a year. I've never grown as close to Charlie as I am with Renee. Mom says I'm a lot like him. Going there would be good. We can get to know each other finally. So… this is a good idea. I think.

* * *

**October 31, 2004 ****–**** Halloween**

"So why again are you leaving?"

"I told you. I want some quality time with my dad, Pamela."

"Right." Sarcasm. I learned everything about sarcasm from my friend, Pamela. She pulled back her long hazel-brown hair and put her arm around my shoulder. "Well, then you have no excuse but to go with me to Dick Jones' Halloween party."

"You know I don't do parties, Pam." But I knew I couldn't stop her when she's in her 'mode.' And she was definitely in her mode. She crossed her arms and started to tap the floor with her foot. I've always thought it was her way to make a point, but now I think it's just to annoy people because it's definitely annoying me.

"Don't use that tone on me, Isabella Swan. You will be leaving Phoenix in a little more than a month. If you think you're going out of this place without ever going to a party, you're dead wrong. You are going with me to Dick Jones' Halloween party or so help me I will end our friendship now."

"We don't even belong in Jones' class. We're Juniors! It's a senior's party. I'm not going to crash it."

"We'll be in and out, and don't worry. It's a Halloween party."

"So what?" She was looking at me like I was a dimwit of not knowing the difference between a Halloween party and a normal one.

"Honestly, Bella. Everyone knows Halloween parties are costume parties."

"I am not wearing lingerie and say I'm some sort of small animal, Pam."

"Don't worry, I got an idea. Just trust me, Bella." She was looking at me seriously. Pamela always so funny and spirited was looking at me now in a serious manner that I almost laughed. But then I didn't because I saw that this was what would make her happy. And happiness is something I want to leave behind when I leave.

Ugh. I sound like I'm never going back!

I considered it for a moment, and then I told her, "I'm going to regret this aren't I?"

She smiled a mischievous smile and grabbed my arm. "Come on then!"

* * *

I really don't like parties or any social function for that matter. Not because the food was bad or the music was too loud. If I were being honest with myself, it was because it reminded me of how different I am.

I'm a teenager. I'm supposed to like wild parties and going out with friends and stuff like that. But I'm not one of those people. I should like to, but it's just different.

I gazed at the darkened street through the glass window of the dress shop.

"Eureka!" Pamela emerged through the stack of clothes. I was surprised by her entrance that I dropped the two dresses she told me to carry.

"What's wrong?" I asked. Maybe something went wrong. A torn dress?

"These are perfect!" She was holding two European dresses from the 18th century, I think. It was big and brightly-colored, and it had a corset. It all looked uncomfortable to me.

"You want to go as a Pirates of the Caribbean character? Won't that be a little too much. I mean, we are crashing this party, right. I think we're supposed to consider a little thing called 'discretion'?"

"But this is a 19th century classic. For once in your life, Bella, be bold and raise a little hell, you know."

"Actually, Pam, that's an 18th century classic. See that-" I pointed at the embroidery around the chest "-that's a style unique only to that era. 19th century dresses didn't put that much detail on their dresses."

"Do you have some sort of secret hobby? Okay. Whatever. We'll go as the Boleyn girls," she announced.

"No way!"

"Oh come on! I'll be Natalie Portman, you be that other Boleyn girl. That bitch."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just joking, Bella!" Then she started putting on the dress, trying to see if it was her size. And I just knew that I'd have to deal with it. She was looking at the dresses like it was gold in front of her. I don't think I can dissuade her from her goal. I'd better get used to looking like a character from a historical novel which was surprisingly not so hard to do.

"How do you put this on, anyway?" she said suddenly. She was trying to figure out how the dress went with the corset. It was quite complicated, actually. Knotting the laces together had a certain pattern to it.

"Here, let me." My fingers immediately knew where to go.

"How did you know that?"

The question stopped me. "I don't know."

* * *

"Déjà vu."

"What?" Pamela asked.

"Oh nothing," I replied. "I just thought I've been here before or at least… _experienced_ this before."

She giggled. "That's silly, Bella! If you had gone to a party, I'd know." She laughed again, but this time she held my hand and urged me further to the living room-turned-dance floor and through the glass doors.

It was a sight to envy.

Dick Jones' house was a mansion … no, a palace. It was huge. And from where Pamela and I were standing, the swimming pool seemed like it was stretching fifteen feet or more. But that wasn't the main attraction of the event. Around the pool were tents, somewhat like that in the circus. And the people were swarming. The party was packed. Then again, when Dick Jones threw a party, a full house was to be expected. If you weren't there, you'd have missed half your life.

Some were wearing masks, some were dressed as animals. The popular girls were dressed, as I have prophesized earlier, in black lacy lingerie. Some guys fashioned in super hero get up, cape and all. Then there were the monster masks, which weren't really monsters. Some of the girls dressed as faeries; that was cute. There were also kids like us who wore period costumes so I didn't feel outcast. But then, when did I ever feel like I truly wasn't, anyway? Never.

Pamela and I continued to cut through the crowd, looking for something interesting to do.

It was like a carnival here. Decorations hung on every tree; Red apples, Skulls, Motes, Cobwebs. It had an eerie feeling, very much like the dead had raised from their tombs and went straight to this party.

"Oh … let's check that one out!" Pamela said. She was gesturing to one of the booths. And then, just as we got there, a boy came up to us. He was concealed under a mask but I knew who he was. Nathan Collins. Popular. Senior.

"Good evening, ladies," Nathan uncharacteristically bowed low in front of us, trying to be a gentleman. He was wearing a knight's armor. It was plastic, but he undoubtedly looked dashing. "I shall be honored if you, my lady," he reached for Pamela's hand "would permit a knight's humble request to dance." And then he kissed her hand.

And how could Pamela say no to someone like Nathan?

"Why, I think I'm feeling charitable tonight," she told him. And then she turned to me. "See you in a bit, Bella. You don't mind, do you?"

"No," I blurted out. "You guys go right ahead. It's cool." But Pamela didn't hear the second part of what I said because the pair were already walking towards the house and surely into the dance floor where all the couples went.

Parties!

I couldn't even manage a first dance. Not that I would have actually danced, but at least they could have asked! And now, what do I do? I whirled around to look for someone I knew, or at least a chair to sit on. As I expected, I couldn't blend in this crowd. It's like they're all happy and contented. And I'm … I'm not.

"Still having them dreams, kid?"

I looked to my left and saw a woman dressed like a gypsy. She was around fifty years old. White hair was escaping from the brightly-colored bandana she wore. And her eyes were a smoky brown. She was peering through the fold of her tent. The sign on the front said "Divination".

"Excuse me?" I asked her.

"The dreams, my dear! That's why 'ya feeling the way 'ya feeling, 'ya know." Then she went and hid inside her tent, as if just to answer the thought that had just crossed my mind. And of course, I couldn't fathom it, but I felt that she knew something I didn't, something vital. And I just needed to know.

Or maybe I just wanted something else to do than stand here in the middle of a crowd without anyone to talk to. So I followed the old lady inside her cozy tent.

"What exactly do you mean by that? And how did you know about my dreams?"

"I'm what them experts call a Clairvoyant," she answered as she sat down on a chair across the space. "Posing as a fortune teller. Now come on, kid, sit down." She gestured to the chair nearest to me.

"You actually tell people you aren't a fortune teller." I smiled. "No wonder this place isn't packed." Even as I said this, I sat down. "So…" I examined the room. It was not like a fortune teller's abode. Not that I'd been to many. There was a lot of space. No instruments whatsoever, just a lot of cloth everywhere. "Clairvoyance, eh? So you're like a psychic or something."

"In a way." She paused, as if trying to see if I was ready to hear something. "I can gain information about a person or an object by using other senses. Senses that ain't as developed as other people's…"

"You're telling me you know what I've been dreaming about for the past month?"

"No," she replied tersely. "I'm telling 'ya that I know _why_ 'ya dream the things 'ya dream, my dear. I know the cause, and now that I look at 'ya, I can clearly see the effect. I just figured 'ya might want to know."

"Ugh… I'm not following." I said. I wasn't sure if it was a lie.

"Oh for heaven's sake!" She exploded. Her calm façade was broken. "The younger generation has become slower and slower. I blame that man Bill Gates for everything! Feeding the kids with technology and computers and the internet and what not. And now them kids don't know anything unless 'ya feed it to 'em like some search engine delivering the --"

"Excuse me, ma'am," I interrupted her. "I still don't understand. Please…"

"Do I have to spell it out for 'ya, kid?" She pounded lightly on the small table. "Those aren't dreams you're getting - Those are memories."

And the most disturbing part was that I actually believed her.

#

REVIEW PLEASE!! I've been getting a lot of Story Alerts and stuff. I wonder why the reviews aren't as much? Please review.


	3. Ch2 Souls

**Title: **Remembrance  
**Author: marjorie16**  
**Fandom: **Twilight  
**Summary: **If there were such things as soul mates, then there are such things as past lives. And when Edward Masen became a vampire, his immortal soul became one with his body. But what of his soul mate? While he lives forever, her soul wonders from body to body, bound by the ties of mortality, always searching and never finding. Alone every single lifetime. After 108 years of solitude, he meets those brilliant chocolate-brown eyes for the first time -- again. Finally.

**BOOK ONE: BELLA**

**CHAPTER 2 ****–**** Souls**

"I miss the times that we used to kiss  
At least in my dreams  
Just let me take my time and reminisce  
I miss the times that we never had  
What happened to us we were almost there  
Whoever said it's impossible to miss when you never had  
Never almost had you"

~Tamia~

**October 31, 2004 ****–**** Halloween**

"Memories?" I asked, as if to convince myself that it was absurd when my instincts knew that it was true. "The dreams are my memories. But how can that be? I… I'm just seventeen. I.. I couldn't have…"

"You're being silly, kid. Do them dreams feature 'ya as a kid? I'm bettin' no. I've seen the case before. It ain't no mistaking. You're one of them _Forsaken_, kid. It's mighty lucky for fate to bring you here, my dear. 'Else you'd be part of the _Shadows_ soon enough."

"Whoa… you're throwing a lot of jargons there. '_Forsaken__'_? '_Shadows__'_? What are you trying to tell me? What does it have to do with me? With my dreams or memories or whatever the hell it is that's happening to me."

She sighed, her aged eyebrows creased. I didn't understand why I was still sitting here. The old woman was scary, not in the sense of claws or fangs. She was scary in a way intelligent people are scary. Sometimes, the things they tell you are a little too much. And I wonder whether I'm up for it. Do I want to know why these things are happening? Do I want to believe the old woman is telling the truth? If then, do I want to believe that this woman is human? Surely someone so cryptic, so mysterious, could have a secret.

Then, the woman shifted her weight, and made herself more comfortable. "Listen up, kid," she told me. "I'm going to tell 'ya something that I've learned in my years here. I ain't even sure if we got it right."

"We? Who's we?"

"My sisters and I. Now, shut up and let the old lady talk."

"Okay, sorry."

"Now where was I…" I would have reminded her, but she bounced right back to her former line of thought. "You know that bible story about -what was the word- creation?"

"Yeah, it's the one about Adam and Eve, right? What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's got to do with _everything_, kid!" she exclaimed. "You, me, every human in this world has got something to do with it. Especially when we're trying to rationalize you're so-called 'jargons'. Now pay attention." She stood up and walked to the bookshelves. She picked a black book, opened it and studiously looked for whatever she wanted to explain to me.

"Is that a bible?" I asked, but she didn't answer. She just kept skimming through the thin pages.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, then dropped the open book on the table. "Book of Genisis Chapter two verse twenty-one to twenty-three. _'__And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; and He took one of his ribs, and closed up the place with flesh instead thereof. And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from the man, made He a woman, and brought her unto the man. And the man said: This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.__'_" And then she closed the bible and went back to the bookshelves. The room was suddenly filled with an eerie atmosphere.

Her back was turned from me, and in an earthly ethereal voice, she said, "Adam and Eve were the first soul mates. His soul was split, and he gave it to his mate. Woman. She birthed children and gave souls to them too. Souls that were an excess of their souls. And the cycle went on until man populated the Earth."

Her misty eyes faced me. "And the more the souls, the chances in finding their true mate becomes thinner and thinner. But souls have funny ways in finding each other. They almost always never get it wrong. It's a little thing called Destiny. But there are some, who become lost." She walked closer to me, piercing me with those intelligent eyes. My breath was becoming more and more shallow. It felt like I was in a different reality, and the merry voices I heard outside became silent murmurs of a time once passed.

"They are called the Forsaken, because they have been traveling time alone, forsaken from their mates."

It took a while for me to respond to that. "You said I was one" -I gulped- "one of _them_. That would mean that my… my…"

"Yeah, kid." She was suddenly back to her chatty self. "You're one of 'em. You sure as hell am one of 'em."

I chuckled even if it was definitely not funny to me, trying to make sense of it. "Okay, let's say that's how it works. Why does it happen, then? Why is it happening to me?"

"It 'appens for many reasons. Maybe you're cursed. Maybe he's cursed. Maybe you cursed each other. Believe me all the romance novels lead to that course. But really, most of the time it's just a random thing, my dear. One lifetime he can choose to be a priest or a monk. So you can't be together in that lifetime. But it changes in the next."

"Wait, '_lifetime__'_?"

"If there were such things as soul mates, dear, then there are such things as past lives."

It didn't take long for me to piece the "facts" together. "So you're saying that my dreams are memories from my past lives?"

"Exactly."

"Well, what does it mean? So what if I'm forsaken and that I'm having silly dreams-slash-memories. Like you said, it's just a random thing. If I don't find _him_ now, I'll find him in the next life, right?" She didn't answer. "Right?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, what else is there?"

She breathed in deeply, probably preparing for the plunge. "You didn't give me a chance to finish explaining it, kiddo. A Forsaken is different from The Forsaken. A Forsaken is a temporary term for those who are temporarily alone. These are the common cases. You see, in every lifetime, you're supposed to learn something, something vital, something that is key to finding your soul mate. But when you don't learn it, you won't find satisfaction or any sense of closure in just any human being. That's why it's called a soul mate. He or she is made from yourself. You two are constructed for each other. Like a lock and a key. You _have_ to be together. It's the only way to achieve true happiness. And true happiness enables you to re-form, to be reincarnated into the next life without compromising your Essence, yourself.

"When you're Forsaken, you don't find your soul mate. You don't find true happiness, and to be reincarnated, you have to give a part of your soul, a part of _your_ Essence. A Forsaken only experiences this in one lifetime, maybe two. But The Forsaken," she paused. I was gripping the arms of my chair so tightly. "They're the ones who've shed a part of themselves more than any soul can take. And when there's nothing else to give, they fade away into The _Shadows._"

"You're saying that I… I'm…"

She suddenly stood up, both hands rigidly on the table. Her tiger eyes were slicing through my very soul. "You want to know why you could never fit in? You want to know why you're different? Why you can't belong to anything or anyone? Why you're mind functions differently from others'? Why you can't -- or won't -- give in to silly crushes and flings? I'll tell you why. **You****'****re number is up, Isabella Swan.** You're fighting Fate. And you're losing. You're not clumsy. It's just Fate getting ready to even the equation. And it's only a matter of time, kid, before you become like me, like us."

I jerked out of my chair. "Who are you? What are you?"

"I am what Shadows are." And in an instant, the old lady became unconscious. I saved her before her fragile body before it fell to the ground. "Help! Help!" I shouted I didn't know what was happening to her. It took only seconds before the first group of kids came in.

"What's happening here?"

"She just fell down, dozed off or something. I can't wake her up!" I told them. More and more crowds were getting in the little tent. I gazed into the old woman that was so vital with life before. And then she opened her misty eyes once more.

"Oh my," she said, her sweet voice was captivating. "I must have dozed off. Why are there so many people? And who are you?" she asked me. "You're pretty." She smiled. "Would you like a reading?" She started sitting up. "Anyone? Is anyone interested in their future? It's just five Dollars a prophesy. Very prudent at your young age."

At that, everyone started to take the scene more acutely. An old lady trying to find game by fake fainting. I thought it was a clever way to get everybody out. And when there was only the two of us, I didn't hesitate to ask. "Is there any way I could prevent it?"

"Prevent what, dear?"

"Prevent from turning into the _Shadows_."

"I don't know what you're talking about, dear. I haven't even read your palm or turn some tarot cards for you. I need those things to properly predict the future."

"But you're not a fortune teller. You told me that yourself. You're a Clairvoyant. You can…you can get in to people's heads and see accurately through their souls."

"My dear, I have no recollection of what you're telling me."

And it was at that point when I've never felt so lost in my life.

* * *

I was scared. I didn't know what to do, or what to believe. But there was only one way to find out the truth. And that was, that was…to dream of _him_ tonight. I've never really admitted it to myself, but I loved and hated those dreams. I hated them because, dare I say it, I saw in them true happiness. Happiness that I now know that I've never experienced since, well, since I became one of The Forsaken.

But I was already thinking that the entire thing is real. Something that I still have yet to prove. How do I do it? How can I say, based on a silly dream, that it's all true?

I sighed. Maybe I should just abandon the whole thing. I meticulously removed my costume and hung it up on my dresser. I looked at the ancient dress for a moment and I told myself that the reason why I knew how to tie the corset up, was either because I've been reading too much historical novels, or maybe because my girly senses were ticking.

I went to my bathroom and freshened up. The shower was cool and rejuvenating. And after that I felt sleepy right away. I couldn't, however, shake the words the old woman had told me. '_You__'__re number is up, Isabella Swan_' And she hadn't even asked me my name.

Creepy old lady, that woman was.

I tugged myself to bed. Minutes later, the dream — memory — started to shape.

_The room was painted in light. The brightness of the place was almost blinding. And I couldn__'__t make out anything, not a person and not even a shape. There was nothing. I was alone._

"_Bella,__"__ someone called me, in a familiar accent that I knew, but as of the moment, I couldn__'__t place it anywhere. I turned around and there she was… me. Long brown curls hanging down almost up to her waist. And she was wearing old clothes, ancient clothes, clothes from when the earth was younger. She was not _me_, but I knew in my heart that _I_ was her. __"__You don__'__t have much time, Bella. _We_ don__'__t have much time.__"_

"_She__'__s right,__"__ another woman said. This one had short hair, almost like a bob. She was wearing jeans way up to her waist. Her eyes were a brilliant color of brown, which were lined with thick eye liner. __"__You have to find _him_ now, Bella, in _this_ lifetime. Or it__'__ll all be too late. For him and us…you.__"_

"_I…I don__'__t understand. This is all a dream. I… I__'__m just dreaming.__"_

"_We both know you__'__re not that creative,__"__ said another girl. She looked young and vibrant, and even though I knew that I was her. I couldn__'__t picture myself as lively as her. She was wearing clothes almost like the first girl had, but different… older._

"_Point taken.__"_

"_Can we please move on? We__'__re all going to stop bloody existing if we wait any longer.__"_

"_None of us know how this happened. We can__'__t expect Bella to know it either.__"_

"_But she__'__s the one. We can__'__t all be here for nothing.__"_

"_I miss _him_. We have to find him. You have to find him.__"_

"_She doesn__'__t know, alright?__"_

_The ladies were talking to themselves, even arguing. And I was just listening in, awed by the sight of so many me__'__s in one room. The differences were subtle, and each person was stubborn and headstrong. The only evident thing I noticed was their auras._

_Some were vibrant. Some were morose. I noticed that as the clothes were getting more modern, the auras were getting darker. Could it be that this was what happened when you give up part of your soul? Or is it what happens when true happiness eludes you. _

"_Why are we all here?__"__ I asked. __"__I mean, I__'__ve never dreamed of anything like _this_.__"_

"_She__'__s right,__"__ someone said. __"__We__'__re all here for a reason.__"_

"_The past!__"__ a girl exclaimed. She was wearing round glasses. __"__If… if we could show her our memories, I mean, her memories, I mean, her past. Maybe we could pinpoint which… which moment, which lifetime the separation happened.__"_

"_Well, how do we know if it was A Forsaken lifetime or The Forsaken lifetime?__"_

"_We have no choice, Bella has to start from the beginning.__"__ Then, the ladies all looked towards the girl with a semi-brilliant aura. She smiled at me. _

"_The first lifetime is very different from the others, Bella. My life --your life-- was not so happy as the ones after me.__" __She was holding out her hand, as if to shake mine._

"_Wait, wait, wait. I__'__m still dreaming aren__'__t I?__"__ I said. I was scared and I wasn__'__t sure if this was the rational thing to do. __"__What if I don__'__t wake up?__"_

"_You will,__"__ another girl answered. __"__Destiny is giving us another chance.__"_

_I__'__ve always wondered why people kept on holding on even if they knew it was hopeless. Right now, staring at the eyes all identical to mine, I could see the reason why. Some things are worth risking your life for. Some things are worth losing a part of your soul for._

"_Don__'__t be scared to trust, Bella,__"__ that girl said. __"__If there__'__s one thing I__'__ve learned from being with _him_, I learned to trust.__"_

_The girl who, I was told, lived the first lifetime came forward. __"__And _I_ learned to never give up.__"_

"_Yeah, we all got the stubborn streak from her,__"__ someone said._

_I walked forward. __"__What was my name?__"__ I asked the girl who was holding out her hand. __"__What was _your_ name?__"_

"_Ysabel__"_

"_Ysabel,__"__ I repeated, and took her hand._

* * *

**July 17, 1263 - The Age of Chivalry**

"Ysabel! Ysabel! Help! Someone, please! Help!"

I was drowning.

#

To my fellow writers and musicians, i invite you all to join my new livejournal community, "notemeetsletter" This is a place where music and writing collide. It is where musicians can PERFORM their own music, and have writers write literary works after it. We've all said that music inspires our writing, why not take The Challenge?

- Marjorie


	4. Ch3 Ysabel

**Title:** Remembrance  
**Author:** marjorie16 (livejournal username)  
**Fandom:** Twilight  
**Summary:** If there were such things as soul mates, then there are such things as past lives. And when Edward Masen became a vampire, his immortal soul became one with his body. But what of his soul mate? While he lives forever, her soul wonders from body to body, bound by the ties of mortality, always searching and never finding. Alone every single lifetime. After 108 years of solitude, he meets those brilliant chocolate-brown eyes for the first time -- again. Finally.

**BOOK ONE: BELLA**

**CHAPTER 3 – Ysabel**

"You're the only one I wish I could forget  
The only one I'd love to not forgive  
And though you break my heart, you're the only one  
And though there are times when I hate you  
Cause I can't erase  
The times that you hurt me and put tears on my face  
And even now while I hate you it pains me to say  
I know I'll be there at the end of the day"

~Beyonce~

**July 17, 1263 ****–**** Bedfordshire, England**

"Ysabel! Ysabel! Help! Someone, please! Help!"

I was drowning. I couldn't place myself for a few seconds. Drowning was a new concept to me. The air was supposed to escape my lungs, and my hands should be spiraling upward, searching for any sort of assistance. But I felt nothing … sort of.

I was aware that I was drowning but I didn't feel anything. I could still breathe properly, and strange as it seems, I wasn't sinking. I felt kind of displaced, actually, especially when, not three feet from me I saw a version of myself. _She_ was the one drowning. _She_ was the one frantically moving her arms, desperate for air. And then I saw that the vivacity of her arms were weakening, her eyes were slowly closing, becoming empty, drifting to unconsciousness.

Meanwhile, I was lost in this overwhelming moment of seeing myself. She was wearing a silky navy blue dress which were liked with white ribbons. And her hair was astonishingly long, up to her waist, I think. It was a rich color of chocolate. The sun's rays reflecting through the blue water shone on her pale heart-shaped face. She looked different, but also familiar. She was me. And she was drowning. _She was dying_. I tried to move towards her so I could pull her up. The man above kept screaming her name, but surprisingly, irritatingly, he didn't help.

How strange it was! I'm moving towards her without swimming. My arms set course to her, Ysabel, but the water surrounding me didn't move. They didn't propel me anywhere, but I moved. It's like being back in time without being present at all.

And then, suddenly, a new set of arms came rushing through the surface of the water.

His right arm went immediately around her waist, while the other kept them both from sinking. He wasn't bulky at all even though he seemed so strong. I didn't see his face, just his dark brown hair that had a reddish tone to it. Almost like bronze.

He was pulling her upward, saving her, saving us, really, because to my surprise, I was up there too. On land.

It was a breath-taking sight. The trees were about fifteen feet tall. They surrounded a lake which, I presume, was where Ysabel drowned. The lake stretched far into the forest. Yes, it was a forest. Everything felt so real. I could clearly hear the chirping of the birds and the sound of the trees swaying to the whoosh of the wind.

My eyes then focused on the scene in front of me. There I was -she was- lying on the green grass, the man who saved her was breathing air into her lungs. He looked like a warrior or a soldier. His black tunic was lined with amber threads. Beside him hovered a blonde beauty. Her face was so light, so beautiful; she looked like an angel or a goddess, or maybe Aphrodite in the flesh.

Behind her were a bunch of men with their horses, all wearing the colors of black and amber. The insignia in their flags featured a ferocious lion with two swords forming and ex in the lower center.

And then, a small figure quickly crawled to the scene as well. He was a dark-haired boy wearing a blue shade of tunic, almost like the one Ysabel wore, only on her it looked more graceful. Unlike the others, this boy didn't look like a nobleman. The fabric of his clothes looked inferior.

"Ysabel! Ysabel!" he kept calling, but the man breathing air to Ysabel's mouth didn't pay any heed to him, nor did he to me, come to think of it. I was an invisible stranger here. And so I moved closer as I pleased.

A gush of water escaped Ysabel's lungs and showered it over her savior's face. She coughed it out so rudely, I felt a little ashamed for her -- for me. And then she was gasping for air, at last turning her body over to relieve more of the water from her lungs.

And then, I saw him. We, both Ysabel and I, saw his face for the first time. The first thing I noticed was the unusual shade of green that colored his eyes. They were like emeralds that held all the secrets of the world, and at the same time it looked harsh, unruly. But now, a glint of humor filled his eyes. A crooked smile appeared.

I looked at Ysabel and again I felt like a stupid person. She was gaping at him like a girl seeing gold for the first time. He honestly wasn't that handsome, but he was no less interesting. Still, it was embarrassing to have her face read like an open book for everyone to see. He chuckled softly.

"Did I dazzle you, _peasant_?" he said.

Beside him, the boy wearing a blue tunic stirred. Ysabel was shot back to awareness and righted her skirts. She looked at the boy -- a secret language passing through them at one glance -- and then back again to her savior.

"Speak," he ordered her.

If there was anything that irritated Ysabel, it must be being ordered about. Because at that moment, I felt a wave of irritation wash through me. It was _overwhelming_. Just a minute ago I felt warm and cozy, even feeling _safe_. Now, it was like a brick wall was suddenly built. I could feel her choosing her words, something was being kept a secret and she wanted it to stay that way.

Swiftly changing gears. She smiled widely. "How improper, my lord, for you to ask me that" -call me _that_, she thought inwardly - "but a woman's opinions must be her own."

He laughed at her boldness. "Very well. Keep your womanly opinions to yourself, then." Another wave of emotions startled me. This time it was regret. Why, oh why would Ysabel feel regret? He stood up lithely, and helped her up as well. "You best not drown in that freezing water again until we're out of sight. I should like very much not to get wet again."

"I did not ask for your assistance," she muttered.

"What was that?" he asked, scratching something in his head.

"Nothing, my lord," she answered. "Do not trouble yourself, then. I honestly do not like neither the cold nor the wet."

"Edward, what is wrong with your head?" the blonde girl asked him, her face was full of concern. Probably his wife or girlfriend, perhaps. The thought stung us both, Ysabel and I. Why was that?

"The lady has quite a grip, it seems. But it's not so bad, Rosaline."

"Forgive me, my lord, I did not mean to injure you," Ysabel said, without concern. It almost sounded like sarcasm. Sounds familiar, I thought.

"I appreciate that," he answered. His servant was handing him a towel of a sort. He dried his hair with it, and for some reason, I could just stare at him. He looked like a man, but he spoke as a boy or thought as a boy. There was an air of arrogance to him that seemed to pull people to him, including me. Surprisingly, me. And he was smiling at Ysabel.

Ysabel had her back turned now. She didn't see that he was looking at her. She went slowly to the boy who wore the blue tunic. "Jake, we need to move. Now."

"But my lady," he whispered, "you almost drowned today. We must head back to the Keep, you father will be waiting."

"I do not want to go back there, Jake. At least not for now."

Their conversation didn't make sense to me. I looked back and saw Edward moving toward them. Ysabel didn't see him, but I guess she was _aware_ of him because she suddenly straightened her back and faced him.

Without preamble, Edward put a big warm cloak around her shoulders, turned around and headed for his white stallion.

I was shocked. Ysabel was definitely shocked. It must be _him_. He _must_ be the man of my dream … literally. "Follow him," I said to Ysabel, but she couldn't hear me. I thought she did for a second because her face showed a trace of the desperation I was feeling. I had to find him, and here he was. She might have felt that too. But she heaved a deep sigh and whispered instead, a thank you. The wistful feeling in her face wasn't unmissed.

Jake grabbed her arm and said to her, "That's Edward the Lion of Ardmore. He's a fierce warrior from the North. We shouldn't get in his way. We shouldn't have anything to do with him."

I could tell that Ysabel trusted Jake because she nodded, however reluctantly. "Where will we go?"

"Back to the Keep."

"I already told you that I do not want to go back."

"Excuse me," a female voice said. The blonde girl was talking to them - to us. Her sweet voice was enchanting, and the color of her hair was as alive as the sun's rays. "A lady mustn't walk in the forest, especially in this time of day. It's twilight. Sir Edward disagrees, but I have room in my carriage. You may ride with me."

"Oh, thank you for offering but, Jake and I have to go somewhere at this time of day. We know the path home very well."

"And where would that home be, my lady?" Edward was suddenly there too. He was up on his brilliant horse. Probably trying to either scare or intimidate Ysabel, because it certainly scared me.

"Just… there." She pointed randomly at the east. "It's not that far, and like I said, we know the terrain here quite well."

"Perhaps, you can help us, then," he said. "My men and I are searching for a place that seems to elude us."

"You mean you're lost?"

"No, I'm … I mean, we're not lost. It is merely that my men and I have not yet found where we must go, and we are running a little late."

"Then you _are_ lost," Ysabel pointed out.

"Being lost would mean that we do not know where we are going. Searching for something we haven't found is a different matter altogether, Ysabel."

She was going to say something about that when she noticed that he knew her name. "You know my name, sir?"

"I couldn't not know it. That boy with you," he angled his chin to Jake "kept _barking_ it to me since I took you out of the lake, and even before, actually. That's how we found you. So how about it, Ysabel, how about you repay your debt to me by escorting us to wherever I wish to go."

"Debt?"

"I saved your life; you owe me something."

That is true, I thought. "Say yes, Ysabel!" I shouted at her. "Say yes!"

She hesitated a second longer before Jake stepped in and said, "We are more than glad to be of assistance."

At that time, Ysabel was holding Jake's arm, and I could see her grip tightening around him. He winced.

"Very well, then," Rosaline said, then she turned her back and went to the carriage door that opened for her.

"Excellent," Edward said, smiling at himself. "Harold, bring that boy a horse. The lady rides with him."

When they got on their horses, and galloped beside Sir Edward, Ysabel asked the most obvious question. "Where to, my lord?"

"Rivenhall Keep"

I could clearly see Ysabel as her mouth opened wide in shock, and Jake's happy grin. He said, just like Edward's tone, "Excellent. To the west, my lord."

And then, a problematic thing occurred to me. What am I supposed to do now? Ride a horse? Walk as they ride the horses? Romance novels featuring time travel of any sort don't answer this at all.

Something tapped my shoulder. "Shh.. I'm thinking."

Realization shot through me. I shouted.

"Stop shouting, silly!" Ysabel said to me. Not the Ysabel riding the horses, but another Ysabel. I looked around and found that the others couldn't see her too.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her.

"I'm here with you, Bella. I'm you and you're me. This is all happening in real-time. If you continue on your own, you'll stay here until I die in this lifetime. Which is forty years from now. Alright?"

"O-okay." What choice did I have then? "So… what? You're going to narrate or something?"

"Well, more like a show and tell thing."

"You sound like me, like you're from _my_ time."

"Like I said, I'm you." My surroundings changed into a white blur suddenly. The blurring texture circled us until it faded into a different setting. It was in a court. Long tables with loads and loads of food were spread in around the place. We were in a party of a sort. The ladies were wearing dresses like that in the Disney movies: Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella. I was busy marveling at the sheer surreal atmosphere of everything. The music was melodic, troubadours were performing in front of a throne, probably a king or a liege lord and his wife and daughter. I suddenly felt thankful to Mrs. Curry, my history teacher.

"This isn't real. This kind of stuff just doesn't exist."

"Nothing is impossible in this world. You'd be surprised." Ysabel looked at me and smiled. "Listen, we don't have a lot of time. We only have until midnight to maintain the connection."

"What do you mean?"

"It's Halloween, right?" I nodded. "Intense paranormal activity happens on that day —today. Only today."

"How do you know that?"

"We've done this before already. We've tried before, and failed, obviously. You have to relive this again. We only have one last shot."

As I was about to ask her what she meant, I noticed the crowd as the music silenced. Three loud sounds echoed in the room. An announcement, perhaps. And then the doors opened, Edward came through the door.

"There he is," Ysabel said. "That's him."

"Sir Edward?"

"Yes." She smiled. "That's my father, the lord of Rivenhall Keep, liege lord to Edward the lion of Ardmore and many others." She pointed at the man sitting in the highest chair. "That's my mother beside him, and that's me." She pointed at the girl wearing what looked like a burqa*.

"My father decided that his gift to me for my seventeenth year would be a husband. I was completely opposed to this because I have been fond of reading King Arthur's tales, knights of the round table, the glorious riders of the North who saved maidens from dragons and other such mythical creatures. Most of all, I believed in love.

"But, of course, that didn't comply with the tradition of my time. I was, in the eyes of everyone, ready for marriage, maybe even a little too old."

"Well, that sucks," I butted in just to add a little humor to her sad eyes.

"You have no idea." She paused then chuckled "What am I saying? You _do_ have an idea.

"Right, well anyway," she continued. "There was to be a jousting tournament, whosoever wins will be my husband, heir to the Rivenhall lands."

"So you were worried that the participants would love you for your inheritance?" I asked her.

"I didn't worry, I knew. I knew for sure that I would not be wed for love. I'm an heiress after all. It's just the way it works. I escaped just a fortnight before the competition, and almost drowned."

"You tried to kill yourself?" I said, shocked.

"No, silly," she answered. "At least, not consciously deciding that I would."

"You actually tried to drown yourself?" I stared at her in disbelief. "For this?"

"It is unfair for women to marry for security or duty or … or out of necessity. I could not think of any other circumstance where you can put yourself lower. For in forsaking your happiness, your life would lose any form of meaning, and soon, every desire to live it."

I didn't know what to say to that. She waited until her breath started to come back to normal before she started talking again. "He saved me. Sir Edward, I mean. It wasn't the first time. I brought him here like he asked. My 'debt' to him, or so he calls it, was repaid. Unfortunately, I was back in time for the opening ceremonies."

Now, I was seeing the court in a different angle. I was suddenly beside the other Ysabel who couldn't see me. Sir Edward was bowing in front of her; he didn't recognize her at all.

The sitting Ysabel snorted as he dutifully bowed his head and said his greetings. "It was kind of silly of me, but that man is the most arrogant man I'd ever met." Standing, talking, narrator Ysabel appeared. "Acting like he was someone of import, which he is, actually. But I still didn't like it. It was only later on that I figured out why, it was because I, too, was an arrogant woman. I know exactly what I want and I detest those who come in my way, particularly Sir Edward. His interests always clashed with mine."

"Okay, let me guess," I said, this was familiar and predictable. "He won the tournament."

"Yes, he did," she answered. "I was stuck with a stupid shiny sword-owning knight."

The liege lord, Ysabel's father, stood up. "Welcome, welcome all to Rivenhall. I am honored of that you have come immediately at my call. Tomorrow is the start of the jousting tournament, the winner, as you all know, will have the hand of my beautiful daughter, and consequently, all of Rivenhall Keep, my throne. One of you, the greatest of you, shall be master among my lands."

The men were nodding. Eager to pounce on each other, I thought. Sitting Ysabel stirred uneasily.

"Gentlemen, I present to you, my daughter, Lady Ysabel."

And Ysabel stood up with an air of gracefulness, something I, Bella, couldn't possibly do. The dress she was wearing, a marvelous color of midnight blue, flowed to her ankles, but she didn't trip as she walked to the center. Her stride held a sense of confidence that astounded me. Everyone's eyes were fixed on her. And yet she wasn't shy or coy about it. Amazing.

This was me, I thought. Me. It's like seeing the gold in which I was before, and now I'm just bronze … or gravel. I felt a tinge of pity at myself.

"My father knows how to stir a crowd, I must say," Ysabel spoke in a controlled, conversational tone. The people laughed. "My father tried to marry me off a number of times before. My suitors ran away the minute they saw my face." The crowd gasped. "But now, I guess, with the whole heirloom at stake, someone is bound to take me. Thank you father for this much-awaited gift. I look forward to my new lord." And she turned her back, and headed for her chambers. A burst of conversation suddenly filled the room. Ysabel's father was angry, her mother was amused. Looking at them, I realized that they looked a lot like Charlie and Renee. _Their_ marriage must have worked out.

"What was that?" I asked Ysabel who was beside me.

"Yes, well, I was stubborn. I didn't want to marry men who would look at me and see only my material treasures. I didn't want them to profess their love to everything I own, and not to me. So I staged my form of propaganda. I ate meals using my fingers, I didn't bathe so I smelt bad all the time. I always used improper speech. I was able to drive away some men. But the tournament continued. Soon, I was married to Sir Edward of Ardmore."

The scene changed again. I was in a room. Ysabel was sitting beside a window, wearing white, still wearing a cloth that covered her face except for her eyes - my eyes. The door opened, a boisterous crowd entered with Sir Edward. And then, they left the two newly-weds alone.

"Good evening, Lady Ysabel," he said, his velvety voice purred in the night.

Ysabel looked at him with fearsome eyes. "I hate you," she said that in a tone that scared even me. Like she was a lioness, ready to kill. And she was. I saw a glint of the blade she held in her hand hidden from Sir Edward's view.

"Why?" he asked. "What have I done to you?"

"You have married me," she spat. "I do not wish to marry."

"Yes, that part is apparent. Why, may I ask, do you wish to remain unwed?"

"Because I'd rather it would be my choice." She stood up. "I want to marry someone who actually loves me. Because you," she poked his chest, "you're a gold digger. You want me for my inheritance. And -" She stopped suddenly because Sir Edward was close enough that he removed the fabric that covered her face. "How dare you!"

"I know you," he whispered. "You're that peasant."

Ysabel probably saw how useless it would be now to cover her face again. She sat down on the bed. "I was trying to run away."

"Obviously."

"Must you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Making it a habit of pointing out your infallibility on each of those occasions when you happen to be correct on your estimation of a situation. It's like you know everything, when you really don't. "

He moved closer, I didn't miss the trace of pride in his stride. "Nay. As I am almost always correct, 'twould be too much of a bother to mention that fact every time it is proven." He smiled. "You're a silly girl, aren't you? Funny and silly."

Even though he couldn't see me, I glared at him. _Know-it-all_. But strangely, Ysabel smiled.

"I think that was about the time I started to fall in love with him," the other Ysabel told me. I looked back at her.

"That fast?"

"Well, I couldn't deny that he was interesting. Throughout the tournament, he was just silent and mysterious and when he looked at my poor manners, he didn't look away. Always, there was this curious glint in his eyes. Always I was afraid that he could see through me, through my very soul. Tonight he showed me something I wouldn't believe a valiant knight would posses: gallantry. Like the knights from the old world, knights of the round table. He reminded me of a fictional character from those tales." And then she murmured furthermore, "A prince."

"That's weird."

"I think…" Ysabel started to say. "I think souls don't have fixed partners. The first time I saw him, I didn't feel anything special. I felt as any girl would have felt when they gazed upon a beautiful man. Other than that, there was nothing."

And then, suddenly, the doors of the bedchamber bursted open. A man came through it with a blade in his hand. "Get away from her!" he shouted.

"Jake!" Ysabel who was sitting in the bed shouted at him.

"Come on!" he said to her. Edward didn't do anything. He was probably confused. Jake hurriedly grabbed Ysabel's hand and took her away. Sir Edward looked at Ysabel. In his eyes I read the question he must have been thinking. _'__Stay__'._ I'm sure Ysabel saw it, but she didn't second guess. She left.

"What's happening?!" I asked the Ysabel who was standing beside me.

"Jake," she answered. "He's the best and truest friend I've ever had. And if I hadn't felt any warm feelings that night towards Sir Edward, I would have forsaken my treasures and followed Jake wherever he went." She paused and continued.

"He took me away. I thought it was what I wanted. I thought I wanted to escape, but I didn't. Not now, anyway. I felt _guilty_. I believed that I hated the man that I married but it was, I admitted to myself now, a consequence of now foundation. He did nothing to displease me, and yet now I was hurting him, his pride as the future lord of Rivenhall, his integrity as a husband. I had disgraced an innocent man, and so I felt guilty."

The images that surrounded me then were moving in fast forward. I saw Ysabel and Jake dining in an old wooden table. I saw that she looked thoughtful, unsure. And Jake looked like the happiest person in the world. And then a picture of a room with one bed, Jake laying a blanket on the floor. And then a group of men filling the room with their swords, pointing it at Jake.

"We were captured before we even got to bed," Ysabel told me. "Jake was imprisoned. And I was brought to Sir Edward's study where I saw a different man. He had changed. I never before wondered why they called him The Lion of Ardmore. He seemed a pleasant man who everyone respected. It was that night that I figured out why. He was an unforgiving man, all the more ferocious because he was silent. He was like a lion before, trying to decide if I was an enemy or if I were a friend. And because of my treachery, he looked at me like I was… like I was nothing. That I meant nothing. That whatever curiosity I had awaken in him had ran its course. And now I am nothing to him. Not a wife. Not a friend. Not even a person."

I was still in the study. Neither Ysabel nor Edward said a word. He was simply looking at her with that wretched look on his face like he was controlling his anger. And then he said softly, "You left."

I knew what he meant. He meant that Ysabel had chosen Jake over him. "I'm back," Ysabel said, equally soft.

Sir Edward sighed. "Fine. I give up." And then he leaned back in his chair. I didn't know what he meant. "You may do as you please Lady Ysabel. Take lovers, take paramours, buy anything you want from your allowance, you will find it is considerable. I had hoped that this union of ours will, in the worst scenario, be only a friendship. But you have disgraced me. You shall be my wife in name only. You do what you want, and I do what I want. The only thing you cannot do, my lady, is to leave me. I swear the next time you chose a mongrel of inferior birth over me, I will personally cut your throat."

And then, scenes changed around me again. I saw Sir Edward flirting with other girls at parties, and Ysabel was there enjoying herself, but I knew from the look in her eyes that she was miserable. Then, the scene changed again. I saw Ysabel shouting and crying, and Edward was there, sitting in his chair, uncaring.

I saw Ysabel being locked up, being dragged, being humiliated — even beaten, and her husband didn't do a thing. Except maybe this one time when I caught him look at her. Really look at her. And for that brief instant, I thought he actually looked like he was arguing with himself.

"He can't be the one," I said. "He can't be. He's a monster!"

"He is," Ysabel told me. And then the scenes changed again. The room was dark. I saw Ysabel lying on her bed, sleeping.

"But I wasn't asleep," Ysabel told me. "He comes to my room every night. When I have wounds he secretly cleans it. All those who ridiculed me and hurt me got punished in some way, I found that out much later. I listened to his footsteps as they walk into my room, he hums a melody to me. And every time I stir in my sleep, he stops and leaves," Ysabel said and paused. "I think this was his form of purgatory for me."

She sighed, and the images started changing again. I was now in a clear, green field. I saw Sir Edward riding his horse, and Ysabel riding another next to him.

"I tried to talk to him," Ysabel told me. "Mostly he ignores me, but that day he actually rode with me across the hilly ground." She smiled. "It was fun. We found a beautiful meadow in the forest. I think he was starting to forgive me. But still, he wouldn't talk like he did on the night of our wedding."

Ysabel showed me the meadow she mentioned, it looked so beautiful. The green trees looked like they could touch the sky, and the flowers covered the grass. It looked like a blanket of colors. I noticed that Sir Edward wasn't looking at the floral display as Ysabel was. He was looking at Ysabel, herself.

Then the green trees started to melt, the colors melted into black. Fading … fading into a Cyan-colored day outside Rivenhall Keep. The air was cold, the atmosphere was filled with gloom. I searched the place. And then I saw it, Ysabel was lying on the ground face up, gasping for strength in the air. A dagger was sticking out between her shoulder blades. She was swimming in a pool of blood, her blood. And Edward was there, with his healers, tending to her.

"Just hold on!" he kept yelling. But she couldn't answer. There were cuts in her face, one of her legs were broken. "Ysabel!" She was shaking furiously, blinking rapidly.

"I…" she tried to say. "I'm s-sorry."

"How could you be so stupid? " Sir Edward was growling. "You shouldn't have covered me! Oh Ysabel!"

"I… I w-wanted t-too s-save you," she breathed.

"You didn't have to!"

"J-hust be thankful, w-will you?" she said, more forcefully this time. "I n-need t-to tell you s-something… i-important." At that, she coughed out blood. The smell of it burned through her nostrils. She was sure that it was the foulest smell in the world, the smell that would always remind her of death. "I… I…" A drop of tear flowed down her eyes. And then, her eyes were empty.

"No! No!" Sir Edward screamed. He pushed the healers back and started exerting force on Ysabel's chest where her heart slept.

A strange thing was happening. A curious gold color was resonating from Sir Edward. "What's happening?"

Ysabel was suddenly there with me. "This is why I think souls don't have fixed partners. Souls _choose_ each other. I gave my life for him, and he's giving his for me. See that," Ysabel was pointing at the gold that was emanating, this time, from the dying Ysabel. "He's reviving my soul with his.

"Listen," Ysabel told me. I listened to Sir Edward as he was trying to restart my heart, and the healers surrounding him tended to her wounds. He was whispering, "Come back to me, Ysabel. Come back and I promise I'll protect you in this life and the next. Stay with me, Ysabel. Stay and I promise I won't hurt you anymore. Ysabel. Ysabel. _Ysabel_. I'll follow you wherever you are. Go then, I'll find you. No, no I take that back. Come back. Come back."

"And from the white clouds I found at the other side, an angel kept calling to me, whispering my name over and over, crying to me 'come back, Ysabel, come back' he said," Ysabel spoke in a sort of trance. "So I did. I came back. I knew then that I would go wherever that voice called me to. Wherever. Whenever. I would recognize his voice."

Something hit me. I gasped at the pleasure I suddenly felt, almost bordering to pain. I was breathing faster and faster, the sound of a beating heart was drumming in my ears. It was deafening. I closed my eyes. I kneeled at the strange feeling that washed over me, I couldn't remain standing.

And then I opened my eyes. I was suddenly looking through Ysabel's eyes as Sir Edward gazed down on her. For some reason, I smiled. And he did too. I understood then what happened. Before they - we - were separate souls, and now we were one. A warm feeling swept through me and I could feel that it was coming from him. And whatever I felt, he felt too. Something connected us now. I knew I would recognize that no matter what era I was in, no matter what he might look like the next time I meet him for the first time.

A blinding white light shot through my eyes.

* * *

**January 12, 1587 – Spain**

**"Buenas tardes señores, les presento a mi hija Isabella."

"Es un placer conocele"

I was never really good at Spanish. To my surprise, though, I understood every word of it.

**#**

As always, your reviews are much appreciated. What I lack in updating skills, I make up for pages. I hope you enjoy reading this, for sneak peaks/questions/theory discussion etc. just visit my livejournal. This story is also in Twilighted(dot)net.

*A burqa is an attire that traditional female Muslims wear. It covers her entire body including her face except for the eyes.

**"Good evening, sirs. May I introduce you to my daughter, Isabella." / "It's a pleasure to meet you."

**This chapter was inspired by:**

- Edward's favorite color on Bella, dark blue  
- "I wasn't interesting. And he was. Interesting…and brilliant…and mysterious…and perfect…"  
- "Do I dazzle you?"  
- "I saved you life. I don't owe you anything"  
- "Be safe"  
- "And so the lion fell in love with the lamb."  
- "This isn't real. This kind of stuff just doesn't exist." (movie)  
- The fact that Bella hates blood  
- Twilight chapter entitled 'Angel'  
- The time when Bella was drowning in New Moon !important!

Special thanks to lj user 'bellacullenpr' for her Spanish translation in this chapter and the next.


	5. Ch4 Isa

**Title:** Remembrance  
**Author:** marjorie16 (livejournal username)  
**Fandom:** Twilight  
**Summary:** If there were such things as soul mates, then there are such things as past lives. And when Edward Masen became a vampire, his immortal soul became one with his body. But what of his soul mate? While he lives forever, her soul wanders from body to body, bound by the ties of mortality, always searching and never finding. Alone every single lifetime. After 108 years of solitude, he meets those brilliant chocolate-brown eyes for the first time -- again. Finally.

**BOOK ONE: BELLA**

**CHAPTER 4 – Isa**

"If the sun shuts down and decided not to shine no more  
I would still have you  
If we see the last day and they say we have to go to war  
I'll be fighting with you  
Because it's us against the world"

~Christina Milian~

**January 12, 1587 ****–**** Spain**

I was standing in a brightly lit ball room. Everything I saw was in the color of gold. There were candles everywhere and the walls were painted with angels. The room was full of grandeur and the people who populated it were of no less splendor. The view reminded me so much of Dick Jones' Halloween party that Pam and I attended. It seemed so long ago.

The women wore fancy dresses tied with tight corsets. I noticed that most of them had wigs on. As I remembered in history class, that meant that these women were married. And the men! Some had big white wigs braided in such an intricate pattern. I could see that I'm in that part of the room where the influential people were.

"Buenas tardes señores, les presento a mi hija Isabella." I was startled to hear such a greeting behind me. I looked at the man who had said it and thought that he was familiar. And when I looked at the girl beside him, I immediately knew that that ebony-haired girl with hazel eyes and a polite smile was me. It was a bit odd that we had the same name.

"Es un placer conocele," said one man. "We've heard the whispers of your beauty, madam. I usually disdain gossips but in this case, I'm glad I courted it. For once, the gossips were right."

To that, Isabella merely nodded, blushing heavily as well. Her father then whispered to her and she went away, walking to the part of the room where the younger people were. "Bella!" somebody shouted at me. So I turned around searching for the voice. And there she was, the guide I was expecting. She looked exactly like the Isabella from this time.

"You're the Isabella from this time, aren't you?" I asked her.

"Obviously," she answered. "So I'm basically here to summarize my entire life which, mind you, is very… well, eventful." She was speaking in English but there was a Spanish accent laced through it.

"We're in Spain?"

"You have that knack of stating the obvious, don't you?"

"I'm just trying to get my bearing here. I'm in another time, for godsake."

"Actually, you're not in another time, Bella. You're in your bed sleeping right now, dreaming accurately about your past lives."

I raised my eyebrows. "Okay."

"You," she put her arm over my shoulder. "Are in a party and you may call me Isa." She was leading me to a pair of girls lively chatting near the polished statue. "That's me," Isa said pointing at the girl from earlier. I didn't notice her clothes before. And now, I could. She was wearing black all over with gold threads trimmed at its sides. "And that's Alise." The other girl Isa pointed at was a brunette. She wasn't that tall but her laugh, I found, was very chirpy. "She's my best friend, almost like my sister. She's very energetic and…just happy. _All the time_."

The two girls were speaking in Spanish. It was obvious that they were having a great time. I listened closer.

"Esperanza debió ponerse otro tono de verde, parece un sapo!" Alise commented.

She was criticizing the fashion sense of the girl across the room surrounded by her friends.

Isa was giggling when she said, *" ¡Ay, Alise! No deberías decir esas cosas sobre otras personas, incluso si ellos no pueden escucharte de aqui."

"Pero es cierto."

"Bueno, al menos baja la voz," Isa compromised, sipping the glass of wine demurely.

"So what's the deal in this life?" I asked my guide, Isa, who was deftly searching the room. "Is there anything I should know? Who are you looking for?"

"_Him,_" she answered quietly. The change of her mood surprised me. She said the word in a desperate tone I couldn't completely understand. So I turned my attention back to Isa and Alise. They weren't where they were before so I searched and followed the two through the crowd.

The two, led by Isa, went to a young man with friendly intelligent eyes. The white garment surrounding his neck was a bit distracting, especially the tight white leggings he wore under the balloon-like pants and leather shoes.

"Sir. Shakespeare!" Isa called, she was now speaking in English. "My name is Isabella Dela Vega. I've read a couple of your published poems and just fell in love with it. Are you working on another book, maybe a play?"

"Why thank you, my lady. I must admit I'm quite startled to have made such an enthusiastic introduction of a sort from the daughter of a Spanish nobleman. As for your inquiry, I am actually working on a couple of plays. That is where my heart is set."

Oh my gosh, that's Shakespeare! I was so enthralled, even star-struck. The man who wrote Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, The Tempest, the man who wrote all those sonnets, who knew I'd meet him --or had met him in one of my past lives. This is amazing!

"I shall be looking forward to your works, señore. I see great potential in it."

Shakespeare shifted his stance to a more conversational pose. "I am greatly honored, señorita. If you will excuse me, my wife has arrived."

"Certainly, señor." Isa was following him with her eyes as he made his way to the two gargantuan glass doors that led to the entrance. And then, somebody bumped into her, spilling some of the wine she was still drinking, thankfully it didn't spill over her dress.

"Oh, I'm sorry, senorita. I was looking for Sir William Shakespeare. Have you seen him?" the Englishman said, he was catching his breath for some reason. It seemed to me that he had been looking for a long time.

A curious thing was happening. As this man stood in front of Isa, I felt drawn to him, mesmerized by the turquoise color of his eyes, the sandy color of his hair, his lean boyish figure. The strangest thing happened to me. Time stopped. The chatting of the crowd quieted, and there was no one in the entire world but the two of us. And then, I knew it was _him_. I sensed it. It was a whole different sense altogether, not sight; sound; touch; taste or even smell. And though he looked nothing like Sir Edward, I _knew_ this man with the honest eyes was him. I smiled.

"Do I know you?" the man asked. His eyes, I like to think, had realized the same thing I did and that was that he was looking at the girl he'd promised to follow wherever she went, whenever she may be.

Isa was dazzled by him, like Ysabel was before. She blinked her eyes rapidly trying to remember where the conversation had gone. She didn't even realize that when she started speaking, it was in Spanish. "¡Señor, usted ha arruinado mis zapatos!" She was not really mad about the shoes, she was just a bit disconcerted that he had that kind of effect on her and he obviously had the opposite reaction.

"Do you speak English, senorita?" he asked, concerned.

**"¿Qué?" Her voice was rising. I think it was because she was either too nervous or that she was still trying to sort out what had just happened to both of us. Of course, in my case, I knew what was happening. But in hers, I think that'll be quite a blow.

"¿Qué sucede aquí?" Alise intervened. "¿Qué le hace usted? Tranquilízate Isa. ¿Qué Sucedió?"

"Is there something wrong here, Anthony?" another Englishman intervened. He had long blonde curly hair that was tied neatly at the back. He had friendly eyes too. His presence was very reassuring. From the way he stood, he exuded confidence. If something was wrong, I'd trust him to fix it. He addressed _him_ as Anthony. How charming Sir Edward's name was in this lifetime.

"Jason, I'm glad you're here. I bumped into this girl. I think I offended her but she doesn't speak English and I don't speak Spanish. And now, this other girl came and I think she's calming her down. I don't really understand completely."

"Alise, creo que estoy bien ahora," Isa said.

The man named Jason conversed with Alise in Spanish, Isa beside her. I could feel that in Isa's head, she was reasoning to herself, arguing endlessly, looking for some reason of why she acted the way she did.

"Anthony, this is Alise and that's her friend Isa. She said that Isa probably just got a little paranoid which, I was told, happens when she's not prepared for something. I explained that it was all an accident."

"Thank you, Jason," Anthony said with a smile that dazzled me. "Will you help me communicate here?"

"Sure," the man answered. I thought he was a little bit too enthusiastic.

Anthony suddenly stood straight and bowed low. "Thank you, senoritas, for understanding the situation. My name is Anthony. It is a pleasure to meet both of you."

Jason translated. The two ladies curtsied. Alise smiled attractively and Isa was just looking at her, wondering inwardly why Alise didn't tell Jason that they understood and spoke English as fluently as these two Englishmen. And then I saw Alise tightening her grip at Isa, probably foreseeing what Isa was planning to say and preventing it.

"Señor, escuché que buscaba a Sir Shakespeare. ¿Para qué?" Alise had asked.

Again, Jason translated adding, "Dibs on the shorter one, brother."

Anthony smiled crookedly, just like Sir Edward. "I am a big admirer on Mr. Shakepeare's works. I think the odd way in which he expresses his words are novel. Sometimes the oddness of it is what makes it beautiful… interesting." I had a feeling he was no longer talking about Shakespeare. And then he looked at Jason briefly saying; "And I won't contest you choice, Jason." He looked back to the two ladies.

Alise was obviously controlling her laugh, and Isa was blushing furiously but also quite amused. The two men had no idea, even now. I knew one of them was about to break the charade.

"You know, Alise, I've always thought Shakespeare's eccentric style is interesting as well. I fully believe that he's going to be very successful. I'm happy to see that a lot of people think so," Isa said, flashing a charming smile at the two men who were now laughing along nervously, realizing that they were being played.

"You speak English!" Jason stated nervously. "You understood every word. Ha ha ha. Very funny, senoritas." By the tone he used, I doubted whether he really thought it was funny. I did, though.

Anthony recovered quickly though. He simply smiled. "Would apply the same principle to people, senorita?" addressing Isa.

"What do you mean, señore?"

"Well, people would have cause to call me eccentric. I merely wondered if you found me interesting in an intellectual sense."

Isa studied him for a while. "Very much so, señore. I find Englishmen very interesting, in fact."

"Isabella, we should have waited until they said more before you spoke." Alise nudged her. "I'm parched. I'll go find us a drink."

"Oh Alise was very crafty, then," Isa, my guide, told me. She was suddenly there. "Alise wasn't really thirsty."

I didn't understand what she meant until Jason spoke. He said, "I shall be honored to accompany you, Senorita Alise." And they both disappeared to the crowd.

"And what about you, senore?" present Isa asked him in return. "Do you find me interesting? In an intellectual sense of course."

"I assure you, senorita Isa, that I find you interesting in every way except intellectually." He smiled crookedly and chuckled. "Senorita?"

"Yes?"

"Can you dance?" Without waiting for her answer, he took the glass Isa was holding and placed it neatly on the tray a servant was holding just as he passed. He took her arm and led her quickly to the dance floor.

"_Can_ you dance?" I asked the Isa standing beside me frantically as she was longingly looking at the pair. I don't know about Isa, but I'm a dreadful dancer. I remember when I took ballet classes as a kid… well, let's just say those recitals weren't the highlight of my life so far.

"Of course, I know how to dance. Don't you?" she asked incredulously.

"N-no," I answered. I should have known these earlier versions of me were better than me. After all, they weren't the ones forsaken. I then gazed on the two pairs dancing lively to the rhythm of the music. "You dance well," I commented as I watched Isa twirling and skipping gracefully in Anthony's arms.

"Anthony would say that it was all in the leading," she replied simply. And then she sighed a long sigh. "Today is the calm before the storm."

Startled, yet again, by her change of tone. "What do you mean?"

"Today is the twelfth day of January of fifteen eighty-seven, Bella."

"So?"

"So?! Don't you know any history at all?"

I shrugged. "A little."

Again, she sighed. "Spain was the most powerful empire of the time. And King Philip II of Spain bathed in its glory. He fancied himself God's devoted servant, but really he was as thirsty for power as any leader, and Elizabeth I, Queen of England was the only one standing in his way."

"Wait, I know this," I interrupted her. "Something about Mary Stuart and ships."

"Yes," Isa answered. She turned back to gaze at the two dancers sharing laughs on the dance floor. "He formed the Enterprise of England, an organization tasked to assassinate the Queen of England and give birth to the largest armada the world had ever seen."

"The Spanish Armada," I answered. "But they failed right?"

She didn't answer me. "This was the last party where Spain and England were still, well, keeping up the appearances."

"Keeping up appearances?"

She faced me. "Spain knew all too well that the pirates raiding Spanish ships were commanded by Queen Elizabeth's sea dogs. England wouldn't admit it, and Spain wouldn't raise the issue either. For the King, piracy isn't enough reason for a war, and anyway he already had something cooking up his sleeves." She paused. "You see, Spain was waiting for the Queen to choose a spouse who would be more pliable than Queen Elizabeth. That didn't seem to work, though. So Spain decided to wait for Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots to assume the throne. Unfortunately,"

"What?" I asked. The suspense was killing me.

"Almost exactly a month after this party, she was beheaded for crimes of treason. Queen Elizabeth had ordered it, and in so doing, she gave King Philip a reason to go to Holy War against the protestant Queen of England."

The scene around me was shifting. It was suddenly the dead of the night at a sea port. Two cloaked figures were standing just at the bay. Their hands were locked together. I could see a profile of their faces through the moonlight.

"My father instructed me to flee Spain and take refuge to the Americans in one of Spain's colonies. That night I said farewell to Anthony who was risking his life every moment he stays in my country." Under the twinkling stars I saw as the two lovers kissed. I touched the edge of my mouth suddenly, as if the kiss seethed through me as well.

"I didn't understand why or how," Isa continued. "I had a lot of suitors, some of them better-looking, more successful and in a lot of ways more _prudent_ to be with. But there was no one who had exactly what I needed more than Anthony. To my surprise, it was the same for him. We were different from each other. Our countries, families were at war. How could a fish love a bird? I don't know." She was shaking her head. "Love just is. And, I had fallen unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him."

The night surrounding me melted into a blur of colors until it changed into a cloudy day in front of a house far less magnificent than the one I had seen before. I studied the scene around me. There were blankets hanging from a long iron wire. They looked like clouds as the wind paraded through them. Then, I saw Isa. Her dress wasn't trimmed in lavish cloth or anything of the sort she had worn in the party. She was apparently wearing servant's clothes and she was doing the laundry with her maid.

The Isa who was accompanying me was suddenly seated on a boulder beside me. "I spent a year in America. I didn't live the lavish life I did before because of the war." She looked down on her hands. "My smooth hands became rough and calloused. I wasn't the senorita I was once. Those were hard times. I hated the war. I hated any sort of violence. Most of all, I hated what it did to the people I loved - my father. And if I could, I would take his place, in the place of someone I loved."

She crushed down the tears that might have been coming, and continued to speak. "In May of fifteen eighty-eight, the king of Spain launched the Spanish Armada, ten thousand war ships. The real war started. Death was inescapable." The scene started the change again. But nothing, no place formed. There was just darkness and the cold wind on my face and the deafening sounds of bombs. "Sometimes I would dream that the war was just next door and my father would be lying lifeless on the ground, and then, I would wake up, terrified. It happened so often I was afraid of sleeping."

I couldn't shake the images I was seeing, like I was trapped in her nightmares. There was fire. Everywhere there was destruction. The gargantuan Spanish ships with red flags were burning, crashing through the angry seas. And the sounds! They were so real, as if the action was happening just next to me. It was the most ghastly sound I had ever heard, and not because it was the sound of guns and bombs and the clashing of swords, but because it was the sound of women crying for peace and children, screaming for help. The bloodied docks and lifeless, mangled bodies were everywhere. "Stop!" I screamed. "Stop it!"

And then, there was silence.

I was standing in the sea shore. The waves were quietly crashing through my feet. I saw Isa. The wind was blowing softly in her face. Her ebony hair was let down, and the wind was playing through them. A ship was closing in; she was anticipating something… or someone.

"What's happening?" I asked Isa who I knew was behind me.

"This happened a few weeks after the Spanish armada set sail for London. I received a letter from my father, telling me to come home. He didn't say why, but I was more than happy to come home even if it means I'm rushing into the heart of danger."

Then, everything started to shift swiftly. I was in a small room. Isa was packing her clothes. Then she was running around the house, looking for things she might need. And then I was in front of a relatively small ship. Isa was walking up the wooden stairs. The ship was now sailing, and she was saying good-bye to her maid. She was alone in a ship with almost a dozen more passengers who were all going home. The patch of land started to disappear on the horizon. Soon, it was like there was only one ship in the entire ocean. The maniacal noise was gone. There was only the quiet rushing of the waves. The silence was, for Isa, maddening.

"What happened next?" I asked the Isa who was staring out to the starry sky.

She then pointed somewhere east. "That happened."

From the east, I saw another war ship heading straight to us. The black ship had tattered sails but it didn't look fragile at all. A face of the ferocious wolf was carved at the front of the ship. The flag that waved through the winds weren't Spanish, nor English for that matter. I focused my eyes on the insignia. It was a black flag with skulls as its feature. It was moving swiftly and stealthily towards us.

I gulped. "Pirates?!"

"Apparently," answered Isa.

"We've got to move away!" I shouted, running to the Isa from my memory, trying -even futilely- to warn them of the coming danger. "Isa, you have to move! Look! Look over there!" I tried to shake her, to get her attention but to no avail. It was too late before the captain of the ship noticed the coming invaders.

"Let's skip the nasty part, shall we?" Isa told me, coming from my side. There was suddenly darkness. I couldn't see anything.

And then, it felt like I was thrown into the next scene. I was in a smelly corridor with a couple of other women. There was a rugged mad standing across us behind metal bars. He wore sort of a tattered version of a nobleman's attire, and a black bandana covered the top of his head. His dark, silky hair hung down to his shoulders. His sword was dangling around his waist. A pistol was located around his black leather boots. I think we were in some sort of dungeon in their ship. I studied the man closely, sensing something familiar with him. His dark eyes were penetrating the prisoners as well, especially Isa who was sitting at a corner, trembling.

The man slowly opened the metal gates with a few disturbing clinches. He walked proudly towards Isa. The fear that enveloped Isa was seeping through me as well. I knew I couldn't do anything about whatever was going to happen next.

"Why does it always have to be you?" I asked my guide who was just standing patiently on the other side. "Getting attacked by real pirates sounds like a danger-magnet to me."

"This isn't a bad thing, Bella," she told me. "Don't you remember?"

"Hello there pretty miss," the man said to Isa. I could see his yellowing teeth from here. "Me name's Jack. I'm the second in command 'ere. What's your name pretty miss?"

Isa didn't answer.

"What's the matter?" Jack continued. "Can't talk can you?" He smiled, showing all his teeth. I could see Isa's face. She was clearly disgusted, but she was trying to appear that she meant no offense. "Well, then little missy. Can you give Cap'n Jack a kiss?" Without warning, he swooped his nasty lips to Isa's.

"Eww…" was the only thing I could say. And then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Isa raise her right arm and with all the fury in her heart, she punched through the man's cheeks.

"Ahhh!" Jack cried. "Feisty little bitch ain't you?" he said as he rubbed the place where Isa had delivered her punch. "Next time you hit me, though, use a crowbar, alright?" He smiled again as he saw Isa's eyes which were, from where I stood, venomous. He laughed loudly. I think he might have been insane. And then, he stopped suddenly. He raised his finger to his mouth, signaling all of us to keep quiet. I listened in too.

There was sword fights above. Jack swiftly ran towards the metal doors, locked it and drew his pistol, leaving us alone. It was clear that the pirate ship was under siege.

"Can we skip this part too?" I asked Isa.

"Sure," she said simply. And just as she did, the dark wooden floor disappeared under my feet. It was replaced by polished wood. I was standing upright in the middle of a large crowd. We were still in a ship, but this time we were surrounded by Englishmen in their uniform. They were surrounding a patch of people in the middle. The people's heads were covered, their hands were tied behind their back. All were kneeling before the commander of the ship. My guess was that one of the prisoners was Isa.

One man was asked to stand up. And he did. Somebody removed the cover of his face. "Spanish," said one English soldier. And then somebody ruthlessly beheaded him.

"Oh my god," I exclaimed.

"They didn't do that to the women," Isa told me. She was standing beside another officer.

"Are you telling me this is how you died?" I asked Isa when the last of the men were dead, and the soldiers called in the first woman.

"Take which you want. The rest will be put in the factories," the commander said as he turned around and left.

I looked at Isa who simply smiled back and leaned casually on a young captain who seemed aloof of the situation. The soldiers were suddenly withdrawing their swords. "Please do not tell me that these women… that we're going to be English whores?!" I exclaimed at Isa. But she didn't answer. "Why don't you answer me properly?" I was screaming as the first soldier removed the bag-like cover off a womans head. As he did this, a soldier came forward and took the girl. "Oh no!"

The process continued. "Oh my God." And then, it was Isa's turn. Somebody removed her blindfold. She was crying. "Please…" she whispered. "Please… don't."

A man came forward. I looked at my guide. "Isa…" looking for some way for her to tell me that this is not real. But she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at the young captain. It all happened so fast. One minute he was laid back, uncaring and in the next he raced towards Isa like lightning, drawing his sword simultaneously.

"Whow, Anthony," the man who came up earlier said. "You can have her, then. I'm not going to fight you for that slave."

"Anthony!" I yelled enthusiastically. Isa, the one from my memory, looked at him like he was an angel.

"Isabella," he whispered, then he kissed her forehead and carried her towards his quarters.

"After everything that happened between our countries, he still wanted me. After more than a year, he still knew me… still remembered me," Isa, my guide whispered in my ear. "He took me to his quarters, fed me, took care of me. I was so exhausted by everything that was happening, I couldn't even thank him while he was at it."

I was now in a small room lit with candles. I didn't need the description Isa was describing, I was witnessing it. Anthony held a wet piece of cloth and wiped it over Isa's dirty face. "I smell bad, don't I?" Isa said to him. He chuckled.

"Yes, actually. You smell nasty." But he didn't move away from Isa. "This is what happens when you deal with pirates, you know. You eventually smell like wet dogs."

"You know what they say." Isa shifted her position to better see his face. "When in Rome…"

He smiled charmingly. "You're silly."

"And you saved me back there. Thank you."

"Anytime." He continued cleaning her face, her hands. And she continued to stare at him.

The candlelit room vanished all of a sudden. I was no longer in a tiny room of the ship. I was in a bigger room lined with marble walls. I saw Isa standing near the balcony, the moonlight shined on her pale skin. Anthony was looking at her.

"If we stay together, I'll be hanged or you will. There's a pretty big chance that we both will. I have to get back to my country, and you to yours." She turned around to face him. "Go back to your life, Anthony. Forget about me."

Anthony moved closer to her. He took her into his arms and whispered in her ear, "You are my life now, Isabella."

She started crying. "We'll get through this war together," Anthony kept saying. "Trust me."

After a while, her hands tightened around his. Ysabel taught me to love. Now, Isa was teaching me to fight for it.

"Marry me," Anthony said. Isa looked up at him, her eyes wet.

"Absolutely."

The room was all of a sudden spinning… transforming. I was in another place again. But this was more familiar than the last, like it was from a dream… or a dream of a dream.

The morning light filled the room with magic. It touched the dancing leaves on the trees outside the window and created sparkles as it touched the glass. It was a beautiful morning, a magical morning.

I saw Isa waking from her bed. Her hair was longer. This was a memory from a later time. She went towards the balcony and surveyed the beautiful morning. The sunlight kissed her cheeks, and she closed her eyes.

"Good morning, love," Anthony whispered as he pulled Isa's long dark hair back and kissed the nape of her neck.

"Good morning," she replied. A perfect morning. I had already dreamed about this.

"You look so beautiful in the sunlight."

"The war ended soon enough," my guide told me. "My father died before I could get to him. Spain lost. But I didn't, though. I won." Isa smiled at me. "Anthony and I went through hard times, but we stuck together, fought together, giving each other strength…hope."

The crying of a baby startled me. I turned back and saw a little child, barely a month old. And Isa was rushing to him. Having children of my own never occurred to me. But this little baby had his mother's eyes and his father's hair color, and already I loved this child as if he were my own, from my time, in my reality.

And then he disappeared. Everything suddenly did.

* * *

**May 28, 1692 ****–**** Salem, Massachusetts**

The first thing that hit me was the ghastly stench of the place. I was enveloped in darkness. I tried to feel my way, trying to get my bearings. The floor was moist. I was definitely not looking forward to discovering what that was. I crawled forward until my head hit something hard.

It wasn't a wall as I expected it to be. I put my hands on it, and gasped. These were prison bars.

**#**

Huge thanks to my Beta, and to Nyvia for her Spanish help.


	6. Ch5A Elizabeth

**Title:** Remembrance

**Author:** marjorie16 (livejournal username)

**Fandom:** Twilight

**Summary:** If there were such things as soul mates, then there are such things as past lives. And when Edward Masen became a vampire, his immortal soul became one with his body. But what of his soul mate? While he lives forever, her soul wanders from body to body, bound by the ties of mortality, always searching and never finding. Alone every single lifetime. After 108 years of solitude, he meets those brilliant chocolate-brown eyes for the first time -- again. Finally.

**BOOK ONE: BELLA**

**Chapter 5 ****–**** Elizabeth**

"When life had locked me out I turned to you

So open the door

'Cause you're all I need right now, it's true

Nothin' works like you

You seem to know the way

To turn my frown upside down

You always know what to say

To make me feel like everything's okay"

~Lenka~

**May 28, 1662 ****–**** Salem Village, Massachusetts **

The sky was gloomy on this gloomy day. The air was stale as it blew my dark hair clear of my face. I was standing in an open field. The grass was dry beneath my feet as I looked down on them. This was another lifetime. And just as the ones before, I was filled with strange feelings, feelings that weren't _mine. _It was hers. And this time, her --my-- feelings were as gloomy as the sky.

Of course, I didn't know why but I knew I was about to find out. From a distance, I saw a crowd gathering at the top of a hill. The sun was setting, and I briefly wondered why I didn't think the setting sky was beautiful, as I often did whenever I chanced upon seeing one. Something urged me to move toward this group of people. And I did. My bare feet, I noticed, were accustomed to treading this grass. It was like I had walked on this path many times before, and I … didn't like it. Something was burrowing in my chest. I was going to regret something. But it was too late to turn back.

The people were watching a man dressed in black who was reading a book. He was standing on a wooden stage where there were three women, cuffed. There were ropes directly above each of them, knotted to make a circle big enough to fit …

"Wait …" I whispered. It was de ja vu. I instantly knew what would happen next.

"And the Lord, our God, said. 'Thou shall not suffer a witch to live' Exodus: chapter twenty-two, verse eighteen," the priest said, and he uttered the word 'witch' with such malevolent disgust that I just couldn't stand. He nodded at another man.

"STOP!" I shouted, but no one noticed me. I ran toward the stage, shoving people aside as I urged on. "STOP IT!"

But the people didn't part to clear my way even if I tried to force it. I found myself futilely pushing myself through them, shouting and shouting amidst the silence. The other man had just finished placing the circular-shaped ropes around the necks of the three women, already crying, already saying their prayers. "NO!" I heard myself scream.

Then, it was like someone lowered the volume. A deafening silence took the place of the crying women, and the shuffling of grass against the musty wind. Even I couldn't hear my own screams.

"Bella," a voice echoed. "Bella…"

I looked around to find the voice. It was a familiar voice, I decided. But there was no person who could have said it. I was suddenly alone in an empty field of decaying grass, with the gloomy sky above me.

"Bella…"

I was all of a sudden standing at the bottom of a hill. And at the top of it, there was a tree. I didn't know what type of tree it was, only that it was dead. There was something about this lifeless tree that seemed to put me into a trance.

"Bella," it called to me. I frowned in confusion. I focused my eyes on the tree whose branches were spiraling upward as if they were hands reaching for something. What was it reaching for? What did it need? Before I knew it, I was walking toward it, the questions were piling up in my head. And then, I was there in front of it. I touched the weathered trunk, and I was hit by vision ... a memory?

Twilight. A boy shouting, crying. People staring, doing nothing. The sun, setting in the gloomy sky. Fire … friendly, friendly fire.

But it was only a flash. It didn't last long enough for it to make sense. "Bella," a voice called, the same voice that had called me to this withered tree. The voice grew louder and louder until I couldn't take it. I covered my ears but the voice wasn't outside of me. It was in my head, calling my name over and over, until I dropped to the floor.

The dizzying voice stopped. I felt more like myself as the seconds passed. Darkness enveloped me. I tried to feel my way, trying to get my bearings. The floor was moist. I was definitely not looking forward to discovering what that was. I crawled forward until my head hit something hard.

It wasn't a wall as I expected it to be. I put my hands on it, and gasped. These were prison bars.

"Oh crap," my voice broke out. I might not have talked for a long time. My hands went straight to examining myself. I was wearing a ragged cloth and my long wavy hair was wet with sweat. I was so hungry. "Where am I?" I asked. I knew there was physically no one there, but I also knew that this was a memory. My past self must be here to guide me, as they did the last two times. "Hello? Is somebody there? Hello? Bella incarnated? Are you there? Come on, talk to me!" I stood up and banged the prison bars for emphasis.

"BOO," a girl's voice whispered menacingly in my ears. I squealed sharply, but covered my mouth instantly. The darkness wasn't so dim now. My eyes had adjusted, and I could see the shape of a girl.

"Geez… you scared the crap out of me." I breathed. I squinted to make sure of what I was seeing. There was a little girl standing in front of me, her blonde pixie hair was beautiful. It would look like gold in daylight, I suspected. "Are you me?" I asked her.

"Yes," she replied, nodding. The pitch of her voice was so high. This could be very irritating in the future, I thought.

"What are you, twelve?"

"Nine."

I looked to my side, making sure I wasn't being pranked. "Seriously?"

"Serious as a heart attack," she said. "I'm 'Bella incarnate' as you called it. And I'm going to tell you about your past life. My name is Eliza and I was nine years old when -"

"Wait," I stopped her. "You're just nine years old! I mean, no offense but, you were nine when you met _and_ fell in love with your soul mate? That's just…" I thought about the not-for-minor-stuff that had happened in my past lives. "Too soon."

"Will you just let me continue? We don't have a lot of time. Besides, technically, _I__'__m_ older than you. And it's not like you're any older to me now, physically. Look at yourself."

I did what she had instructed and found that I had lost my breasts. "Oh my god!" It was not like I had fabulous breasts in the first place, but this was crazy! I was a mother in my past life, and now I'm a nine-year-old kid.

"See what I mean?" Eliza said as she crossed her arms across her flat chest. She looked extremely smug. "Now, may I please continue?"

I gulped, swallowing my present shock. "Okay."

"My name is Eliza Osborn and I was nine years old when I died."

"What?" I'm pretty sure I didn't hear that correctly. "You were nine when what happened?"

"I died," she said casually, as if dying were an ordinary thing at her age. "It happened today, actually."

"What do you mean today?" I demanded. "Where _and_ when are we?"

"You're in a jail in Salem Village, Massachusetts, 1662."

Salem? Why did the name sound familiar to me? I remember talking about this in our history class. Yes! That was it. Salem, 1962…

"The witchcraft trials…" I whispered, dreading Eliza's confirmation. She nodded. "This isn't going to be a happy ending?"

"Did you think those are common?" she asked me innocently. And then she walked toward me. "Ysabel taught you how to love. Isa taught you how to fight for your love. And now, " she took my hand. "I'm going to teach you to be brave."

The scene blurred, and formed into a new one. I was in a candle lit room. "Be brave, my Eliza. Be brave."

"But mother, where are you going?" Little Eliza's tears were racing down her cheeks. Her stunning hair framed her heart-shaped face and rich brown eyes. Her mother was now hugging her tight.

"Mommy is going to stay with Mr. Hathorne and Corwin here. There has just been a little misunderstanding, dear. I'll be back tomorrow. Okay? Your brothers are going to look after you. Alright?" She turned to the boy next to Eliza. He looked about thirteen. "Joseph, I'm counting on you. Take care of your brother and sister."

Little Joseph nodded, putting on a brave face. "James, you'll be okay." Their mother patted his shoulders. "This won't take long. I'll be back."

"But she didn't come back." Eliza was standing next to me, looking at the scene I was looking at as well. But this time, her eyes were as hard as stone. How could somebody so young be able to endure this?

"What happened to her?"

The room swirled again and formed into a new scene. I was now standing at a dark hallway which was painted in moonlight. I recognized where I was. I was in a jail, not in a cell but in the place itself. Eliza was there too, kneeling in front of one, gripping the bars as if her life depended on it. "Mom," she said over and over, crying.

Eliza, who was witnessing this with me, waved her hand as if to slap the image, and it blurred as if it were being played in smoke.

"What's your story, Eliza?" I almost didn't want to know. Whatever it was, it was going to be sad. I knew it. I could see it clearly in the shadows of her young eyes. And yet, there was no trace of regret in them. She was at peace.

Eliza sighed a heavy sigh, and looked down at her tiny feet. "It was my fault," she whispered. "I could've stopped them. I could've saved lives, but I was too afraid to say something. I was… weak to protect the people I loved. I was too…" She paused, looking for the right word. "late."

I was shaking my head. I didn't understand. "Take me to the beginning, Eliza." With no further questions, she took my hand and dragged me down the rabbit hole.

The first thing I heard was the clanging of cans and the whooshing of dirt in the bare ground. There were kids laughing. And as my vision cleared, I saw the scene myself. Eliza, a little over four feet tall, was standing in the middle of a group of boys. But then, I soon realized that they weren't playing. They were mocking her.

"Look at that black mark on your neck, Eliza! You're cursed!"

"Liar!"

"Rick's right. You're cursed! Bad things come from black marks, and bad marks appear on cursed people!" The boys laughed.

"Eliza is cursed! Eliza is cursed! Eliza is cursed!" The boys chanted. Eliza was now silent. She was looking down on her little bare toes and little tears were wetting the ground. She didn't move away though, despite the urge.

Suddenly, out of nowhere a dark object -shoes- flew across the sky and onto Rick Spinner's red head. "Ouch!" the twelve year-old boy exclaimed. "Who threw that?"

"I did." Everyone looked east. It was Joseph, Eliza's big brother. "Now scurry away Rick and bring your gang with you. You trouble Eliza again and you'll be what I'll throw next time." Joseph was probably as old as Rick. He wasn't bulky or too thin. He was as slim and agile as any normal kid. But he had a commanding presence that it was impossible not to listen to him. He was the sort of boy that, Eliza thought and therefore I did too, knew what to do in any situation.

"Joseph!" Eliza called, running to him.

"Eliza," he said, resting his hands on her shoulders. "How many times should I tell you to call me or run to me whenever anybody bothers you?"

"I'm sorry, Juju. I was just…" She sighed. "I knew what to do. I kept telling my feet to move but they just won't."

"Honestly, Eliza." James, who was holding his suspenders as if he were an old man, appeared in the field. "You're as yellow as a chicken. Maybe you should stop coming to her rescue all the time, bro. She knows you'll come to save her all the time so she just doesn't make the effort."

Eliza looked at her big brother. "Are you tired of saving me, Juju?"

"Of course not, Eliza. But you have to learn to take care of yourself. What if I hadn't been here? You would have gotten hurt."

"I wouldn't have let that happen." Another boy emerged. Something tingled in my fingertips. I was familiar with this sensation already. It wasn't something I could discern by my senses, it was just something I felt.

I felt _him_.

The boy approached the brothers. He was wearing a newspaper boy hat, a white polo and clean shoes with long gray socks. He had unruly reddish-brown hair and brilliant sapphire eyes. "I'm the only one who's allowed to bully you, freckles, aren't I?" He flashed a boyish grin and winked at Joseph.

"Ugh. If it were you, Eddie, I would not even notice." It was then that I realized that while I, Bella, was practically _longing_ for this little boy, Eliza felt nothing of this magnitude. There was attachment, yes; tenderness, yes. But it was not fiery and passionate like it was in the last two incarnations.

"Silly, girl," he called her. He put his hand on her head and playfully juggled her pixie hair.

"Ahhh... You always ruin my hair!"

"What is there to ruin, anyway?" he shot back. "It's always disheveled no matter what you or I do."

"How would you feel if I ruined your hair every second of every day, huh?"

He snorted. "Freckles, there is nothing you could do to my hair that would make it as ugly as yours." Seeing her mouth open in anger at his word, he made a run for it. Sure enough, she followed after him.

"They were like the three musketeers." Eliza, who was standing beside me on top of a familiar hill beside a familiar tree overlooking the field where the two kids played tag, said. "They were always there to protect me and care for me. Although, I think Eddie only did it because Joseph was his best friend."

I smiled at her. Only now did I notice that I was looking like myself again, tall and with breasts, looking down on little Eliza. "I bet he enjoyed every second with you, Eliza."

"Yeah. Every second mocking me!" She crossed her arms.

I laughed. _Every second just being with you. I bet Sir Edward and Anthony would have relished calling you all kinds of names just so you could messy their hair or run after them across the fields._

I looked back at the scene. "He's a lot faster than that, you know," Eliza told me. "I watch the boys when they play by themselves. He's the fastest, I know it. He just slows down 'cause I couldn't keep up."

"And he'd rather keep up with you, right?"

"So he says… only more condescendingly." She chuckled.

I savored their laughs as I watched them run with bare feet across the moist soil. The sun was setting, so the sky was colored with warm tones of orange. The trees were swaying at the light breath of the wind. And I enjoyed watching two silhouettes -now four- running one after another.

"Bella."

"Huh?" The brilliant sky was gone. I was now in a cozy, warm room on a winter night, sitting beside a group of children who settled around an old lady. She was about sixty and she wore gypsy-like clothes that were thick around her fragile body and dyed with different colors.

I recognized Eliza sitting next to James among the pile of little children. "Tell us another story, Tituba." With that, the kids nodded.

"Well, alrighty little ones. But promise me, you'll go to sleep afterwards."

"Aye, Tituba," the kids replied in unison.

"Once upon a time." She smiled a sweet smile despite her missing teeth. Then, her eyebrows curled as if in anger, "In the dark throes of the damned. Lucifer opened his all-seeing eye to the sound of a lady calling his name… a human calling him…"

"At first the stories were seemed fascinating," Eliza told me. I didn't listen to the rest of Tituba's story. "I stay at the Rev. Samuel Parris' house on some nights. See his daughter and niece were my best friends. And on normal nights, we would just play around the kitchen or something like that. But it was the winter season and Reverend didn't like it when we played in the house and such. He wanted us to behave like good Christian girls and do our chores and such. I admit it was boring, but that was how it is in my time. We, Puritans, had a certain way of living, you see. And girls like us had a certain etiquette and name to uphold.


	7. Ch5B Elizabeth

"So we spent our winter night in Abigail and Elizabeth's room listening to Tituba's stories. Like I said, it was fascinating in the beginning. Never had we heard of such stories of magic. And as the nights went by, more and more kids started joining us. The stories began growing darker. And then, something really bad happened one night. After Tituba left along with the other kids, Abigail woke us up in the middle of the night."

Everything went dark around me. "Pssst. Pssst. Eliza? Bibi?" a girl whispered in the dark. "Wake up! I just had an idea! Bibi? Eliza?" I heard rustling of bedsheets.

"Oh go back to bed Abigail! It's way past our bed time," Elizabeth 'Bibi' had said.

"I've got something important to tell you guys!"

"Alright, I'll humor you," Eliza replied in her husky voice. It was obvious that she was fast asleep and was just being polite about it. "What's your idea?"

"Okay." I heard a smile on this eleven-year old girl. "I found a way to get us some action this winter."

Bibi suddenly sat up in disbelief. "What? You woke me for that? Come on, Abigail. Go back to sleep."

"Bibi, wasn't it just the other day that you told me that we live an absolutely sad existence? And Eliza, didn't you once tell me that we were such sad little people? Well, I know that. I believe that. And I'm sick of it! I'm a kid who does her chores, speaks when spoken to, and curtsies in front of every man and woman I meet. We're always supposed to be prim and proper." She paused. "Except you, Eliza. You're not actually obliged by your class to be 'prim and proper'… no offense."

I looked to Eliza for clarification. "I'm a pauper," she said to me.

"None taken," little Eliza replied. "But Abigail, Rev. Parris says…"

"See? See? It's always that way around here. Tell her Bibi."

Bibi was hesitant, but only for a while. "Well, yes. It's always been Rev. Parris says this and that; and Abigail do this, fetch that; Bibi did you do this, have you done that. He's my father and I don't feel any affection from him, not any warmth."

"But we must do what is pleasing to the eyes of the Lord. Doing our chores is one them," Eliza reasoned. "You guys mustn't feel less loved because of our more weighty obligation to our faith."

"Eliza, I haven't even gotten to my brilliant idea."

"Fine. Shoot."

"Okay. This is just for fun, all right. Let's make everyone believe that the characters from Tituba's stories are real."

And there was silence apart from the gasps. "How?" Bibi asked.

"What do you mean 'how'?" Eliza exclaimed. "The answer is 'no'! We can't do that. It's wrong."

"All we need to do is appear to be possessed with some evil spirit or something. And that's it, Eliza. I promise. We're just going to see how uncle reacts, and then that'll be it. I just want to see an expression on his face, a real expression." She paused.

"He's going to freak out, Abigail. You know it. And Rev. Parris freaking out is a bad idea."

"Eliza, I'd rather he'd freak out," she replied. "At least I would know that he actually cares enough about me - about us," she corrected. "To freak out of fear _for us_."

"I'm in!" Bibi, who was rather silent before spoke clearly and seriously for the first time.

"I'm not going to be party to this, girls. Good night." And Eliza went back to sleep ignoring her best friends as they pieced their plan.

A series of loud bangs could be heard from a distance. Little Eliza, who was drying the plates in the kitchen left her chore to follow the sound. She speedily went up the wooden stairs and saw Rev. Parris knocking on her best friends' room. Bizarre sounds were coming from the room.

"Abigail, Bibi, open the door!" he shouted. "What's going on in there?"

"Dad!" "Uncle!" was all I could discern.

"Oh my god." I gasped. I remembered my American history… no …I remembered _my_ history. "The fits. It's started, hasn't it?"

Eliza merely nodded.

"It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Abigail promised, but something went wrong."

"Tell me, Eliza." I noticed that the scene was fast-forwarding around me, and the sounds were muted. As Eliza spoke, the events happened simultaneously.

"Rev. Parris was eventually able to open the door, only to see both girls acting strangely. They were throwing things and screaming of a pain that had no cause. So Reverend called in the doctor, but there was nothing they could do. They were diagnosed as being… bewitched or something. Just like in Tituba's stories.

"I remember coming to their room and telling them to stop it because the deed was done. Reverend freaked out, and he even called the doctor and some officials. These had already shown that he does have affections for them. But they didn't listen to me. They kept acting like they were really sick."

I was seeing this as if it were in a movie house, except only the people had clear features. Their surroundings were hazy, like the way things are when you look through fire.

"Abigail, stop this! People are getting alarmed! You promised." Eliza was starting to cry.

"Demon!" Abigail was pointing at an empty fireplace. "My Lord! Please forgive me! Please forgive me! Ah!" she shouted as if she were pricked at her right arm. "Stay away! AH!"

"Abigail! I'm serious! Stop it. You're scaring me!" But she didn't stop, and Eliza was crying already. "Bibi?"

Bibi looked at her, and then at Abigail. "Ah!" she exclaimed after a moment. "It hurts! My body hurts! Ah! Dad!"

"Stop joking around, you guys! I'm serious!" she was speaking through her muddled tears. I could already hear several feet running to the room. Eliza heard it too and looked to the door. "Stop it or I'll tell on you! I'll tell on you!" And she ran for the door. But before she could, Abigail, older and bigger than Eliza, had pinned her to the floor.

"You will do no such thing, little Eliza," she said to her, menacingly. "I'm - We're finally getting what we want: love."

"You mean attention."

"You're not going to get in our way, otherwise, you'll get it."

"You're a liar! You both are. Deceiving people? This is wrong!"

"Shut up, Eliza!" Bibi called from behind. "Are you really going to betray us? What a friend."

"I'm not betraying you! I'm protecting you. This is not right. Have you no fear of the Lord, of your father? Or your uncle?"

"Shut up!" And with that Abigail withdrew from Eliza and sat on the floor. She folded her legs to her chest, hugging them. And then, the reverend barged through the door.

"What is it my loves?"

"Demon!" Abigail exclaimed as she did when Eliza found her. "AH… Uncle it hurts! Something is pricking me!"

"Dad!" Bibi called out. "Make it stop! Make the pain stop!"

Before I knew it, I was in another scene. Eliza was standing outside Abigail and Bibi's room. It was in the middle of the night, and Eliza was drenched in darkness. The only light that could be found was the candlelight seeping through the door of the girls.

"We can stop now, Abigail," Eliza heard Bibi say. "We've convinced them that we had been bewitched. Maybe, maybe Eliza was right."

"Don't you see, Bibi? If we tell the truth, we're going to be dead. This thing we caused has gotten big, really big. We're, like, famous all over Salem… all over Massachusetts. If they found out that we're lying, nobody is going to want us. We'll be thrown. It's too late, even if we wanted to."

"But who are we going to blame, Abigail? Father keeps asking us who did this to us. And who are going to be blame? No one." Bibi's voice was obviously strained.

"Shh …someone might hear us." The candlelight was suddenly gone.

"Why the long face, freckles?" The sun was high in the sky. Eddie chuckled his care-free laugh, as usual, and sat beside Eliza who was obviously crying. When Eddie was near enough to see her watery eyes, he frowned. "Did someone hurt you?"

Eliza sniffed. "No."

"Why are you crying then? You're already ugly. Crying will just make you look worse." He laughed again trying to lift her mood, I bet. "Who am I kidding? You can't look any worse!"

He looked surprised that he wasn't even able to bring out a grin. "Look, what's wrong, Eliza? There's no fun teasing you if you going to be this way."

Eliza started crying. "Abigail and Bibi..,"

"Uhh…" Eddie hesitantly put his arm around her shoulders, and Eliza suddenly leaned in. "I… uh" his cheeks were blushing. "heard about that. People have been talking, though. Dad says there's going to be a witch hunt, like there were in England."

"I feel so alone," Eliza whispered. She wrapped her arms around Eddie's waist.

"Shh… I'm here, okay? I'll… I'm here, Eliza."

As I was looking at the two kids, their innocent embrace, my guide Eliza tugged on my shirt. I looked at her as she pointed at a window in a house. And there I saw it. Abigail was watching, and she didn't look pleased.

I was suddenly in standing beside Abigail in her room.

"So the witches who influenced you were Tituba, the Caribbean slave,"

"Yes, Mr. Hawthorne," Bibi replied.

"Is there any other?"

"Sarah Good, sir."

"All right." Another gentleman was writing down the name. "That's the homeless beggar on the street. Is there any other?"

Silence.

"That's it. Order the detainment of these women, Mr. Corwin. Thank you, Reverend, for your time. We've got witches to hunt."

And just as they were about to leave, Abigail, who was looking at the window watching two kids on the field, whispered "Osborne."

"Excuse me, miss?" Mr. Corwin inquired. "What was that?"

Bibi looked surprised, yet she was composed. "Sarah Osborne," Abigail clarified.

"The impoverished woman on Dell's street? Right, then, we'll add her name." And the two gentlemen left.

"Wait," I said. "Isn't that your mom?" I asked Eliza. She merely nodded. I think I know what happened to you, Eliza. My eyes were welling.

All of a sudden I was in a room gorged in fire. The wooden walls were crumbling beside me. As I touched the fire, I didn't get burned. But I felt as if my body were elsewhere because I was filled with thoughts that weren't mine.

"I told you to shut your mouth, Osborne!" I could hear Abigail's voice in my head.

"You inflicted my mother in your web of lies, and look what happened? Your joke killed my mother! And not only mine, but others as well. People you don't even know are being accused as witches or warlocks when they're really not! You've got to stop this Abigail."

"I told you once, I won't tell you again. Shut up or you'll going to die like the others. Bibi and I aren't alone anymore. There are other girls who have joined the lie, and we can't stop it now or we'll be blamed for the deaths."

"You _are_ to be blamed for the deaths."

"We didn't mean for them to be hanged! We just…" For a while there, Abigail's voice broke with uncertainty.

"Abigail," another girl's voice was heard.

"Ann!" she replied.

"'I'm sorry, Eliza' was the last thing she said to me."

I saw a group of girls carrying a sack of rice to the Osborne residence. A sack of rice?

"No," Eliza answered.

"I remember," I whispered to her. "The house was empty. Joseph and James were out looking for me. I had been locked somewhere until the girls had decided what to do with me. Despite my threats to unmask them, I didn't push through with it. I was hung on to my faith in them, in spite of the killings. I… I was scared.

"And it was too late," Eliza continued my soliloquy. "They wrapped me in a sack of rice. I was small enough to fit in there, and light enough to be carried this way. They burned the house to keep their secret."

Fire. Friendly fire.

"Help! Somebody get me out of here! AH! Help!"

"Do you hear something?"

"Joseph! James! Eddie! Somebody, please! Help me!" It was like I could remember too clearly what it was like to be trapped in a sack, like I could feel the fires creep through my toes, burning them.

"Someone's still in there!"

"The fire has already spread too thoroughly, Eddie, we can't get in."

"It could be Eliza in there!"

"Eddie, we can't help her anymore."

"No! Don't stop me! Eliza! ELIZA! NO!"

Fire. Friendly fire.

* * *

I was floating in nothingness. The nothingness smacked between dying and living again. That was where I was. That was where I had been twice before. And now, I'm back again, awaiting my next incarnation, gravitating to it …

Peacefully.

And then, I encountered something I hadn't encountered before. It was as if there was an invisible grid in my path and I couldn't maneuver away from it. I felt it even though I occupied no physical space in this nothingness between worlds. I realized that this grid has always been there. I had always passed that grid, and it was familiar.

But to my shock, as my essence met that grid I was startled by the intensity of pain that welcomed me. Violent. Treacherous. Fierce. _Vicious_. And I knew I didn't have the voice to scream in, or the mouth to scream from; arms to fight it with or tears to shed, I could do anything to stop it. I couldn't even think logically, I only felt. And what I felt was a pain indescribable, unendurable. Can you imagine several knuckles punching through every inch of a very thick cemented wall?

I could. And I had no choice but to endure it.

I'm the door. The knuckles are pushing me back, as I was being sifted. And I was gravitating, uncontrollably, through it. It felt like I was trapped in an infinite second of excruciating pain. Until I was split.

_I_ split.

#

A really long one to make up for my absence  By the way, to all French people who took time to read this, I have a favor to ask. Please leave a message.


	8. Ch6A Marie

**BOOK ONE: BELLA**

**CHAPTER 6 ****–**** Marie**

"We can get away to a better place if you let me take you there

We can go there now cause every second counts

Let me take you there"

~ Plain White T's ~

**March 28, 1835 - Marseilles, France**

I fell, with stunning force, to the ground.

A number of things became apparent to me as the seconds passed. First, some part of my body should be broken from the fall. Not that I'm complaining or anything, but I was the one who crashed and I felt the impact. And yet, I was fine which means I'm still in my head, traveling through my memories.

Second, as I picked myself up and felt the folds of my skirt curtain my feet, I realized that I was standing in the middle of a stage. I was surrounded by tiny bulbs of light aimed at me from below, and a really powerful sort of flashlight from afar facing me head on. Like a deer in the headlights, I felt glued to the ground, blinded by the light.

"_Te voilà, enfin_!" a cheerful voice beckoned.

"Excuse me?" I said. "English, please." The sound of her chirping voice came directly ahead. I squinted to get her profile. At first it was just a dark figure coming at me, and then I could see her clearly.

"Oh, pardon me, Bella. I was just so excited I'd forgotten you were an American."

I was staring at a five foot six girl, probably in her late twenties, and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life. "H-hi," was the only thing I could say, stunned at her beauty.

She smiled pleasantly, opened her arms and gave me a hug. She released me, but kept her hands on my shoulders.

"Well, that was uncustomary," I said. She had beautiful reddish-brown hair that pooled down to her waist. It was styled in a very elegant manner. I imagined she was like a fairy princess, a mythical creature, with her emerald green eyes keen as they studied me. She was incredibly slim, not like stick-thin, but a kind of toned physique, muscular. She had a long neck, long arms, long legs, long everything. She was gorgeous. Drop-dead gorgeous.

"I imagine you have a lot of questions."

"Yeah, like, how does one look like _that_?" I said, referring to her.

She chuckled. "We'll get to that later. For now, can you tell me what happened to you after you died the last time?"

I sighed as I tried to remember what it was. But I couldn't. I could remember Eliza, and everything she taught me. To be brave. But after her horrible death, a death I experienced with her, I couldn't remember the rest. "I… can't remember anything. I was just falling, falling here."

She merely nodded, and was thoughtful for a second. "Oh, where are my manners? My name is Marie Cotillard." She held out her hand. I shook it awkwardly. Seeing her and how perfect she looks made me feel conscious about myself.

"Bella?"

"Hmm?"

"How do you feel?" she asked. "Do you feel any different from how you felt as you entered your previous lifetimes?"

Though I was puzzled at her question, I tried to sort out my feelings. I haven't had lots of time to adjust to anything, I thought. I was just plunged into this roller coaster ride across memory lane. And I've been hopping lifetime after lifetime without any idea where I'm going next. "Um… yes? I feel more -- no, scratch that -- less… I don't know. I'm not making any sense. Not even in my head. But, I think you're right. There is something different. Why don't you just tell me? I know you know it, just as the others knew everything."

"Well, in that case." She put both her hands on her waist and smiled again, charmingly. "You've just experienced your first 'forsaken'."

"Huh?"

"Remember what the old lady said? 'When you don't unite with your soul mate, you get reincarnated by losing a part of your essence.' In your first lifetimes, you felt no different because you always found _him_. Together, your essences' traveled as one through the, let's call it, the In-between to get reincarnated once again. But because you are essentially two people as one, you don't feel the split. But with Eliza, she was never actually _completed_ in her lifetime."

"Wait a minute." I was waving my hands. "There was Eddie."

"Yes, there he was. But having a soul mate, meeting your soul mate, playing tag with him and all is way different from the experience of a soul mate. Eliza was too young to be thinking that way of Eddie, and she was too occupied with her mother's imprisonment and her friends' betrayal. I'm sure if it weren't for the drama of her life, she and Eddie would have been _it._ But that wasn't how it went. And that's just how it is." She paused.

"I guess if it didn't happen that way, I wouldn't have learned what I needed to learn."

"I'm glad you have that perspective, Bella," she said tossing her hair backwards. "Anyway, I guess you're lucky you can't remember anything of the separation. See, since your essence traveled alone this time, the separation doesn't change just because you are. Our essence was split, Bella. Everything that makes you essentially yourself and everything of what you can be is your essence, and that was split as you were reborn into my lifetime."

"I…"

"We've lost half ourselves today. I'm glad you don't remember."

Too late, her words reminded me of what it felt. "I do. I remember it now. It was… _excruciating_." Realization dawned. If that was how things went every time you don't find your soul mate, and I'm one of the Forsaken -- shy away of becoming part of the Shadows -- because of that, then I have been through a lot of separations, each more painful than the last. "Where does the other half go?" I whispered.

"I'm not really sure," Marie answered, and I knew our line of thinking was the same. "I have a theory that it goes on and becomes new souls for new people. New souls with a clean slate and could pick out its own soul mate. But if I'm right, I'm guessing those halves would look for semblances of its original soul mate."

I frowned. "But that could mean there'd be someone who's totally perfect for you because he or she split from you, and that he or she could – in a manner of speaking – steal your soul mate from you, right?"

"_Oui_, I thought of that. And then I ask myself why, when we're reincarnated, that we're always female. Maybe the halves become, I don't know, your male alter ego or something. Either way, how else do you explain how the population has multiplied exponentially? How are new souls born? You've got infinite time, but you've got finite matter to work with. So I'm guessing the separation is just all part of the harsh ecosystem."

"Maybe…" I paused, wondering how I could be having an argument with my past self. "I mean, Ysabel was the first, right? She had a clean slate to choose anyone, and she chose Sir Edward. If who she was and all she could be made up her essence, then in that first life, it was all she was and all she could be… with him. So if I had to guess, working with the assumption that the halves don't fade away, they would get reincarnated with the power to choose any one. It is our life that makes us who we are, not our birth. As for the male counterpart thing, I don't know. That's a big theory."

"Well, I'm going to have to sleep on the first one then," she said. "Sounds like Sartre, though," she added, but I barely heard it.

"Who?"

"Oh, Jean-Paul Sartre. He's French. He isn't alive yet, but I know his great-great-great-great-grandfather or something."

"I bet you knew a lot of people," I said to her. I had an inkling sense that I was getting better at this traveling-through-memory-lane thing. At first, I was always fumbling, not knowing what to do or what happens next. Now that I'd accepted what was happening to me as real, the memories, thousands of them, lay undisturbed in my brain -- soul. I had only to unlock it. But I felt that there were horrors in some of those memories and that it was better to take them on one at a time. But as for now, I felt around to look for what _felt_ like Marie in these memories, "_Plus que ma propre vie__._"

She grinned knowingly. "I can see that as we get nearer to your lifetime you can remember things better."

"What did I just say?" I asked her. My French was non-existent.

Marie looked down to her breasts and took a golden locket that hung around her neck. She popped the tiny catch and offered it to me. " 'More than my own life' "

The locket was round with a slender vine border carved around the outside edge of the circle. There was a small picture there. It was the image of a ballerina. She was standing tip-toed on one leg, the other was raised behind her and her hands were spread like wings as she leaned forward. On the opposite side, there was an inscription in French. "This is what I just said, isn't it?"

"_Oui,_" she replied. "It says, 'more than my own life'. _He_ gave it to me."

She took the locket from my hands and pressed it her heart as she closed her eyes remembering. This was a happy ending then, I thought quietly as I stared at her beautiful face. After a time, I said, "That's great news then. So, Marie, what are you going to teach me?"

Her eyes flew open and she smiled widely. In a flash, I couldn't even follow the move, she raised her arms to an O-shape, stood on her toes, raised one of her legs and pivoted on the other. And then she jumped, her back turning from me. For a spilt-second, she was in the air and her body moved so gracefully as if it had learned to fly.

"W-O-W!" My mouth hung open at the brilliance of her move. It wasn't just a perfect execution. There was an ethereal flair to it that was just amazing. "I've taken ballet lessons before. But believe me, nothing you say or do is ever going to convince me to dance again. Or do a jeté, for that matter."

Her laugh was like bells ringing. "No, silly." She pat me on my shoulder. "I'm going to tell you about my life as the others did. And this is my life." She lifted her right arm and swung it, as if parting curtain, to where the blinding light was. "The stage, the lights, the sound of clapping hands and the flowers. Oh, how I loved those flowers. Flowers that were thrown on the stage after the performance and the flowers that were sent up to my room wrapped in big red ribbons." She sighed.

"I _loved_ it." To prove her point, she backed away a couple of steps and did more jetés and pirouettes and more moves I couldn't name. "I lived and breathed dancing."

It occurred to me that her love for dancing rivaled my distaste for it. "Are you sure your one of my incarnates?"

"Silly. Bella. You have to understand that there are so many layers to our essence, and this is just one of it. Ysabel had the stubborn flare, Isa had the book craze and Eliza…"

"Had the unfortunate ability to cope with pain, loss and betrayal," I finished her sentence.

"Right." She nodded. "Well, dancing is mine. It's what I turn to whenever everyone turns from me."

I frowned in confusion as she held out her hand. I took it willingly.

The next thing I knew, I was standing beside her in a room of glass. Very much like a ballet studio only it was fashioned accordingly to the era. We were watching a group of girls, probably as old as I was when Renee enrolled me, dressed in tights. The sight reminded me of a similar experience when I was eight. "And I thought I'd have blocked that memory for good."

There was an instructor standing across the line of girls who were holding on to a _barre_, a kind of rod attached to the wall. "_Un, deux, trois, quatre. Un, deux, trios, quatre,_" the instructor chanted. And with each syllable, he clapped his hands with crisp precision. The staccato rhythm he produced seemed to signal a specific movement that all the girls performed.

There was one girl among the twelve who stood out from the rest. Her hair was close to a fiery red, but not quite. And her eyes were an innocent shade of brilliant green. No doubt, she was Marie.

And then the instructor said something in French that I couldn't understand, but from the way the girls stepped into position in the center of the room I figured that it was time to practice without the support of the _barre._ Again, I remembered my ballet experiences. This part of the daily routine was hell for me because we all had to exhibit something individually. And being the uncoordinated person that I am, it was a recipe for disaster.

The instructor moved toward a sort of music box. I'd never seen one that looked like that before, except in pictures. It was a box, of course, with four legs, a big black C.D., (I'd forgotten what that was called), the pin-like point that I knew would read the notes recorded in the plate, and a golden horn where the sounds would make beautiful music.

The maestro let the music box sing. It was, as I'd guessed, a classic melody. It began slow and then suddenly fast - like a chase - until it reached the climax, where it morphed into a melancholic tune.

One by one the girls executed the lesson of the day. There were some who missed a beat and came on too fast, some came on too slow. Others would occasionally fall, but they got up and tried again. I could see in their faces how much effort they put into each step, each turn of the leg and slide of the hands.

Marie was the last to perform, and I remembered the phrase 'last but not the least' because she was brilliant. The maestro called her name, and she walked confidently to the middle of the room. She looked intently at herself in the mirror across the room and breathed deeply, as if conditioning herself, and closed her eyes. The music started, slow and smooth. And with this, she opened her eyes and started dancing. There was something otherworldly in the way she moved. Her hands folded like flags against soft wind and her arms turned and glided effortlessly, and not stiff like the others. She wasn't just executing the routine of the day, technical and by the book; she was dancing.

There was no trace of strain in her face. There was just a field of emotions flooding out in her eyes, her face, in the way her body moved with effortless grace. As slow and peaceful as the music. And then, with a jolt, there was alarm in her face. Her eyes widening as the music transformed into a chase. Now there was urgency in her steps, like she was being pulled into some place she didn't want to go. Even I, though I wasn't sitting, was at the edge of my seat, so to speak. The melody became faster and faster, and Marie was doing successive pirouettes, faster and faster as well. Tension was building up, one after the other until finally, the climax, she jumped high as if in freedom, and dropped to the floor, with both hands against her chest now and her eyes screaming in sadness. It was a heartbreaking face that matched the heartbreaking melody. She leaned to the ground and raised her right leg, and her skirt cascaded down to her hip. And she began moving again, slowly like the first but, this time it wasn't as peaceful. It was more like surrender, hopelessness in a losing war. And she finished with a pose, exactly like the others had, but it held more meaning as the last notes of the music died.

The maestro, everyone, came to a resounding applause.

"That was beautiful," I said to Marie. "And you were, what, eight?"

Marie was smiling. "Yes, I was. Same age as you when you started." She now looked at me now. "You see, I understood that though ballet is a formal and very technical form of dancing, it was a dance. And the music is its partner. If I hadn't been a ballerina, I would have been a musician or something. I naturally gravitated towards music, the sound of the piano being played or a violin. Each note was like an emotion and when played, it weaved itself into a story, a story I sometimes think only _I_ could understand. The phenomenon of music is so beautiful, but some people couldn't get it like I do. So I danced, thinking that I could explain the music through my body."

As she said this, I saw the maestro patting the shoulder of little Marie in approval. It was dismissal time already and the girls surrounded Marie first, then went to fetch their bags and wait outside for their parents. We were outside now in the streets of Marseilles. Marie searched the road for her carriage, and there it was. A boy opened the door for her, and she stepped in. Now we were inside the carriage sitting across from little Marie and, I assumed, her mother. She was telling her mother about her day and how the maestro congratulated her and told her that she may one day be a famous ballerina. She looked so excited and happy, but her mother merely nodded, feigning happiness at her daughter's success.

"That was initially, of course," Marie explained to me as I looked at little Marie, seeing her face that was so cheerful just seconds ago turn into a frown. "My mother had a lot of problems, mostly emotional. She always complained about not being important to my father because he was always away, married to his job. At home, it was always about her needs, how she needed to live and all that. Sometimes I think that maybe she regretted having had me because she would have to worry about someone other than herself. I understood that, and I didn't like it, of course. Father was always away and mother was always locked inside her room or out at parties with her friends.

"We were a rich family. So I guess they thought as long as I got what I want, that everything was okay. But it wasn't, Bella. You can have all the treasures of the world and still feel it's not enough, that something's missing." Her eyes stared at me in a pleading manner, like she was begging me to understand something. "Ballet became a tool for me to get my parents' attention."

Now we were in a lavish living room. Little Marie had grown into a teenager and her polished hair was fashioned in a pony tail. She donned a simple pink dress, but it looked like a piece for the runway when she wore it. Her father was kissing her temple and gave her flowers. They were in the middle of a party, and her mother was boasting her daughter to her friends.

"And I did," Marie continued. "This was the party my mother organized after my debut as prima ballerina. It was an important occasion because the performance was choreographed by Maestro Jean Georges Noverre. He was the catalyst to the turn of the romantic period in ballet. I thought everything was going to be okay now. Dad was there at every performance, and mom was there at the after parties. But soon, I started seeing the truth in their eyes.

"Dad was forever looking at his clock. And mom was forever entertaining guests. I realized that Dad saw it as a duty, and mom saw it as an opportunity for herself." Her eyes dropped to her feet. "And I was surrounded by a sea of people, and still felt alone. They hurt me, simply by not loving me and it pierced my heart."

My eyes were welling because she was me. Though I don't remember every detail of that lifetime, I remembered the feeling. Or at least, I could imagine it, the feeling of being alone, because I lived with it too. My dad is in Forks, and my mom is with her new husband. I was alone too.

I found myself suddenly standing on a stage that looked very much like the one I arrived at. It was now filled with people practicing.

"Despite knowing this," she said. "I still danced. I loved dancing and that was the truth that couldn't change. I can always count on ballet, unlike people. I can count on ballet because then there wasn't anything or anyone to count on but my skill. I was good at it and I loved doing it. I knew how to be happy in it and entertain myself in it. And the people loved me. I had many


	9. Ch6B Marie

lovers who admired me, but none could see past the famed ballerina. I knew they loved what I was, but not who I was. And pretty soon, I forgot who I was too … until _him_."

"You found him?" I asked, suddenly feeling cheerful.

"No," Marie replied. "He found me."

A light seemed to blur everything, then I found myself in the ballet studio like the one before. Marie was standing in the middle of the room, and she was alone and practicing. She looked very much like the little girl before, looking at the mirror and breathing deeply in preparation for the day's work. The sound of footsteps disturbed her concentration and looked toward the door.

"Guillaume!" she called out to the man. "What happened to your foot?" She was speaking in French, and I had no idea how I understood it.

"I fell through a flight of stairs yesterday, I'm terribly sorry Marie." Guillaume had a crutch on his right arm, and a nasty looking cast on his right foot.

She rushed over to him, hugged him soundly and smiled. "Don't worry about it, Guillaume. I know you didn't mean to, but we have a _Pas de deux_. How am I supposed to find a partner and teach him the steps in just a month?"

It was a dance for two people, Marie explained to me. Guillaume grinned cockingly. "What kind of man do you think I am to trouble you so? I've already brought you a solution." Then he moved aside to let in a stranger through the doorway. At the sight of the man, my heart tightened. It was _him._

He was a tall man and had friendly eyes and an easy smile, but something about his face told me that he was just being polite.

"Marie," Guillaume began. "This is my older brother, Antoine, and he will be your practice partner until this bloody cast is removed. A month is more than enough time for this thing to heal. So you are not to worry. Okay? Well, that's it. Gotta go see you then!" He rushed out before Marie could say another word.

I looked at Marie and thought that she didn't seem like she felt what I did which was strange because I always knew it when I saw _him_ and so did my incarnates … at some level. But with Marie there was nothing. And now the two were alone in a room surrounded by mirrors, and the sunlight slanting from the windows.

She gave him a stunning smile. "How much did he pay you to do this?"

"One thousand Francs," he replied, grinning. "I don't go cheap."

She laughed. "Marie Cotillard." She bowed the way ballerinas do. "Ballerina for twenty years."

"Wow." Then he bowed as well, the bow of a gentleman. "Antoine Janvier. Musician and ballet neophyte."

"A musician?" Surprised. "What instrument do you play?"

"Piano, miss."

"Call me Marie."

"Marie." He bowed again, but lazily this time.

"Well, Antoine, have you ever been in love?" she asked him. Kind of too forward, I thought. I wouldn't have been able to say that.

Antoine looked confused at her question then grinned knowingly. Maybe he thought that she was flirting. "Yes, of course I have. This is France."

"And you have no idea about dancing, right? Let alone ballet?"

He nodded, now unsure where the conversation was headed. "Pretty much, yes."

"Then a logical ballerina would think, this-" She turned and did an Arabesques position, similar to the picture of the girl in the locket. "Is not something you can learn in a month if you're going to practice with me. I could probably get professional dancers to practice with, but that's going to take time and money. And Guillaume has already spent enough. So I'm going to work with you."

"I don't feel any confidence in my skills," he interrupted as she turned and walked across the room to start the music. "But I guess that's reasonable." She faced him now, her eyes misty as the melody of a waltz filled the room. Then, with such ethereal grace, she walked - almost glided - toward him. Her lavender skirt flowed dreamily with every step. And her hair was wavy against the still air, her eyes focused on him.

"The reason why I asked if you have ever been in love is because-" she was in front of him now, only inches away. She could smell his scent as he did hers. Her hand went to his left arm and wrapped it around her waist, and upped it to her shoulder blades. Then she linked her right hand with his and raised it to the level of their shoulders. She looked up at him. "I don't care if it's a lie," she whispered softly. "But when we're dancing, love me."

And they danced the waltz. It was in the way he looked at her, I thought, that told me his heart was lost to her.

"Bella," Marie called me. I looked at her. "I put all my love to my parents and they didn't give it back genuinely. Since then, I never allowed anything or anyone to get close enough to hurt me that way again. I didn't allow myself to love something as precarious as people. I loved only things I could count on, and that was ballet. I didn't count on anybody but myself.

"I'm going to teach you what is essential in every relationship, Bella." Her green eyes sliced through mine. "I'm going to teach you how to trust yourself and your heart especially. Sometimes we can get so wrapped up in our own misery that we draw a line between us and other people, and we don't allow them to get in. We simply stop caring about things because we're afraid that it'll disappear, of the pain that comes after."

The next thing I knew I was midair, surrounded by the city lights of France. Marie and Antoine were in a hot air balloon, overlooking the city. It was a magical sight, enveloped in stars. Her eyes were filled with astonishment and his with love. They were drinking champagne, and I saw Antoine offer a bouquet of roses to her. She accepted.

A second passed, we were standing in the brightly lit streets of Paris. It was night time, and a couple were crossing the lane. It was Marie and Antoine. He looked charming, combing his sand-colored hair with his fingers. Something he was saying made Marie, walking beside him, laugh. And then, they stopped in front of what I guessed is Marie's apartment.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow…" Antoine started saying as he reached out to hold her hand, to which she rolled her eyes.

"Good night." She smiled demurely. "I'll see you tomorrow." She turned, walked up the stairs and went through the door with just one quick backward glance.

When she was gone, Antoine didn't move. He simply watched the door, as if contemplating that he had just spent the best night of his life. And said, "Good night to you too, Marie. Dream happy dreams. You have touched my heart like no one else has, sleep _mon amour_." Then, he shook his head and laughed at himself. "I've gone mad."

Inside the apartment, Marie had just closed the door. She leaned her back against the door and tried hard not to smile, but failed. "This is madness," was the only thing she said and went on.

"The minute I admitted that I felt something for him," Marie told me. "I distanced myself like I always have when things become serious. My relationships before were casual at most. But I knew it was different with Antoine. He saw through _me._ He saw through the always-smiling girl, the perfect girl everyone thought she was, and into a sad lonely woman."

"Marie, what's wrong?" Antoine kept asking. We standing inside Marie's dress room just after the performance. She was wearing a silky tutu skirt with a color that mirrored her eyes. Her hair was loosely pinned, and it framed her heart-shaped face. She looked like a fairy, but her eyes were cold and reserved.

Sitting on a chair and removing her earrings, she replied, "Nothing. Why are you asking me this?"

"Because you're suddenly avoiding me," he demanded. His gray coat twisted heavily as he flicked off his gloves. The scarf around his neck swung wildly when he forcefully removed it. "We've spent hours practicing your dance _and_ getting to know each other, getting closer. I ask you out one night, you accept. I thought it was mutual. I _believed_ it was mutual after that night. And then, you change. It got worse when Guillaume finally gets back, and you had no need for me. I left you a dozen messages, Marie."

"Antoine, it was just one night. It was a friendly date. And I didn't have time to return your messages because opening night was coming and everybody was so busy. I was so busy. Don't worry, we'll go out again. I'll bring my friends, you bring yours and we'll have a party, okay?"

"How about just the two of us?"

She sighed. "It can't be just the two of us, Antoine. It won't be any fun."

"Are you saying you didn't have fun with me that night?"

"No," she spat. It was the best night of her life. "I just think that if we sink in any deeper, we won't be able to climb out," she murmured. There was a hint of despair in her voice.

"And what's so wrong with that?"

She faced him now, her eyes welling. "Everything! I'm at the prime of my career and I don't need you or anyone or anything getting in the way. I need to focus, Antoine, can't you see that? I can't give you what you want. My time and attention will always be divided, and it will never be enough for you just as I know that it will never be enough for me. I'm sorry it has to be this way for both of us. I'm not ready for a serious relationship. All I can offer are occasional nights, and I know you won't settle for less. Now, please just go."

Antoine remained silent and stared back at her with his dark eyes. He was about to say something, but stopped himself. A few seconds later, he tried again. "Before I leave, will you do me a favor?"

"What favor?"

"Kiss me," he said simply. "Just one kiss, and I'll go."

She didn't say anything. It was something she also wanted to do. So she stood up and closed the distance between them. Her misty eyes looked up to him as he looked down to her. And she lifted her lips against his.

And it was as if I could feel it. It was a slow, deep kiss that stirred the depths of my soul. Marie wanted it to last longer, but their lips parted. And left the room, leaving something hard caged in her hands. She looked down at it and opened her hands. It was a necklace and its pendant was a locket. She unclasped it and saw a picture of her the first time he saw her, beautiful as a goddess. On the other side was an inscription. It wasn't an 'I love you' as other men might have written. It was too cliché, especially for Antoine. It said, 'more than my own life' which, Marie thought, was more affecting.

At that moment, she started to cry.

"I realized that I had just let something so beautiful pass," Marie told me. "And I even pointed him to the door."

"What did you do?" I asked her. She looked at me intently.

"Don't you remember?"

"I…" And then, suddenly did. "You ran after him."

She smiled. "I did."

Now I was seeing Marie run out of her dress room. "Antoine!" she called out. But he was nowhere to be found. So she ran down the stairs eagerly but just as she started to take a step down, someone called her name. She lost her balance and fell down the stairs.

Then, I was surrounded by the unyielding, unending dark.

"What happened?" I asked Marie when I saw her standing beside me in a hospital wing. She lead me to a room where Marie was standing beside a window. She was wearing a hospital gown and her hair was messy, but otherwise still beautiful. She was looking at the setting sun.

"How do you feel, miss Cotillard?" The doctor came in, although the first thought that came into my mind was a movie star. He had golden hair that matched his topaz eyes. His skin was so pale I thought he needed a sun bath.

Marie faced him. But her eyes were looking at something else when she answered, "I'm fine, Carlisle. I feel better thanks to you." She lifted her arms like she was feeling her way. When she found the shoulder of a chair, she grabbed onto it and started walking toward the bed.

She was blind.

"It wasn't Antoine who called out to me that time. It was the stage manager calling me for an encore or something. But, destiny is kind of funny this way, no?" Marie, who was standing beside me, said. "When I could see, I blinded myself. And when I went blind, I could see clearly."

She continued her story. "I disappeared in the ballet scene for about a year. I was locked in one of my houses in Russia, brooding. At first, I felt empty. Like I was nobody. Dancing was my life, and now I could dance anymore. I couldn't even get through my own room without falling down."

I could see it now. We were in a dark room, the curtains were thick enough to cover the sunlight. And she was there sitting in a lavish chair surrounded by lavish things, staring at nothing.

"Only my closest friends - and I only had a few - and the servants knew what had happened to me. The rest of the world thought I'd retired or something. I didn't follow the news. I was busy… brooding. But there was something inside me, probably the Eliza part of me, that was brave. So I picked myself up and taught myself to walk as if I could see.

"For a year, I trained myself. I started with memorizing the layout of my home until I could go around without any assistance. I always wore sun glasses, but I learned how to follow voices and soon enough I could converse with people and they'd have no idea I couldn't see them. I felt better doing this for myself. Because, in some strange way, I felt _alive_.

"I tried to dance again too," she explained. "But I could only do it in a large space where I couldn't hit anything or anyone. I knew then, I would never be able to dance with my company again, or on a stage. Still, I went back to France. The news of my return spread like wildfire. Naturally, I announced that I wouldn't be able to dance anymore, that I was retiring. But in honor of my legacy, I was going to build a school.

"When I got to my house, though, I was greeted by a nervous servant."

"Madam," her chirpy voice rang. "There is a gentleman in the gazebo waiting for you. I told him you would be a while but he said he would wait. He's been here for hours."

"Describe him to me."

Marie's heart drummed loudly because she knew exactly who it was when the girl described him. She waited a couple of minutes to calm herself before walking toward the garden where the gazebo was. She would have worn her sun glasses, but it would have been irrational to wear them at night.

She thought of all the scenes she imagined the past year when she confronted him. All the things she wanted to say, but the only thing she could think to say when she stepped out into the grass and in his presence was "Hi."

"Hi," he replied. His voice was like velvet. She never really thought about his voice, Marie was telling me. But according to her, this was the first time she'd actually thought of it. It occurred to me that the last thing she remembered of him was his sad face, asking her to kiss him. And now, she was only left with a voice.

Marie couldn't see it, but I did. It was a dreamy scene. Marie's garden was filled with beautiful flowers, and there was a pond on the left wing where there was a miniature waterfall. The sound of rushing water accompanied with the song of the crickets added to the serene scene. And there he was standing in the gazebo, looking his best. And there she was, wearing a periwinkle blue dress with a smile on her face. She would never know how perfect the scene looked, with the mist surrounding them and the candles lit.

"You're wearing the locket I gave you."

She smiled warmly. Hearing his voice told her where to look. "Of course I wear it." Her hand went to grab the locket and her eyes followed the movement. "It's one of my most treasured possessions."

She didn't see the frown on his face. "I would thought you didn't want to see me the last time, then you disappeared. I looked for you, but I couldn't find you. I thought you really didn't want to see me. But now you're back, Marie, and I -"

"Stop," she said cuttingly. And he did.

"Is there something wro --"

"Say it again," she pleaded.

"Say what?"

"My name," she whispered. "Say my name again… please."

"Marie."

She smiled. He smiled as well, but she wasn't able to see that. "There are so many things I want --Oh!" The second she put her foot forward to walk toward him, she tripped over a stone and fell on her face. But before Antoine could get to her, he stopped when he saw her staring at nothing and her hands went on to feel their way around the ground. And when they touched the leg of a chair, she grabbed it with both her hands and picked herself up.

"Oh, Maire," was the only thing he said.

She smiled guiltily. "This is why I went away." Her eyes were welling, and tears suddenly raced over her cheeks. "It wasn't because of you that I left. I… I can't dance anymore, Antoine. It's not a ballerina who's standing in front of you, it's a blind girl. And it's a blind girl who's loved you, who's asking for your forgiveness and it's a blind girl who's asking you to love her too. Will you take me as I am?"

The seconds passed like years. She couldn't see his face, so she couldn't tell whether she was going to be rejected.

"It was the biggest leap of my life," Marie whispered to me. "Standing there in silence, with only the sound of the crickets to console me."

Then I heard his chuckle. "Only a mad man can say no to that." And then he ran towards her, wrapped his arms around her waist, carried her and circled her in joy. They were both laughing at their reunion.

Then, he brought her to the gazebo. "Where am I?" she asked.

"Dance with me, _mon amour, _my only love?"

She smiled shyly. "I…I can't. I'll trip and fall over."

"I'll worry about that," he said as he tightened his hold on her waist and pulled her closer. "Do you remember what you said to me when you taught me how to dance?" He didn't let her answer. "When you're dancing, love me," he whispered those last words. She rested her head on his shoulder as he moved her side to side. Then he murmured in her ear, "_Aimes-moi_, love me, Marie. Dance with me."

And before she knew it, she was dancing again.

* * *

**August 14, 1918 - Chicago, United States**

"Miss. Isabelle?" the woman said. "Miss. Isabelle, are you in there?"

#

* * *

Inspired by:

- The locket that Bella bought for Renesmee in BD (Ch.34 - Declared)

- When Bella attended ballet lessons as a child. Remember the ballet studio where James tortured her in Twilight?

- Shakespeare's 'parting is such sweet sorrow' line was a reference to the Elizabethan era in Chapter 4

- "Sleep my Bella. Dream happy dreams. You are the only one who has ever touched my heart. It'll always be yours. Sleep my only love."

- When Bella says in NM "Kiss me." But in this chapter, it was Antoine who said this.

- The break-up scene in NM, only it was Marie who was burning bridges.

- And the prom scene in the movie. So the beautiful gazebo scene with the romantic candles.


End file.
